


The Ore of Legend

by pantswarrior



Series: The Cultists' Cycle [21]
Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Action/Adventure, Captivity, Dark Magic, Final Fantasy XII references, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Phobias, Physical Disability, Pre-Canon, Religion, Suspense, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28448097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: When what should have been a quick strike on the Crimson Blades' new outpost goes suddenly and terribly wrong, Sydney and Hardin find themselves in the hands of an outlander with too much knowledge of them - and an apparent ability to suppress the use of the Dark.
Relationships: Sydney Losstarot/John Hardin
Series: The Cultists' Cycle [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3668
Comments: 5
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just going to say it up front: This gets weird. And pretty dark - I tried to do my best to use the tags for content warnings. 
> 
> Loosely inspired by a random writing prompt I saw and liked, had no idea how to get there given the canon, and then suddenly I remembered that Vagrant Story shares a world with Final Fantasy XII, and everything fell together so neatly that aside from a couple days' break to rest my hands, I couldn't stop writing for two weeks. Hope someone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As was so often the case when Sydney was awake in the darkest hours of the night, his heart was troubled. As was not so often the case... this time he was puzzled as to why.

It had not been the usual visions that had awoken him, nor did Hardin seem trapped within his own frequent nightmares at his side. The Dark told him of no imminent danger - the Crimson Blades were not scouting near the overgrown brush where their small party had settled to sleep. On the contrary, after sundown the following night, Müllenkamp intended to mount their own offensive.

That could have been the reason behind Sydney's worries, if not for the fact they had carried out far more complicated operations than this, against targets with better defense, and with less preparation. Several times over the past weeks, he and Hardin had conducted surveillance - a task to which Hardin was quite well suited, as he could scrye the interior of the abandoned hold, a waypoint approximately two days' casual journey down the road that had once led to Leá Monde. Originally under the king's jurisdiction, it was used in the past for a neutral meetingplace and the occasional fete between local heads of state, but had been all but deserted for the past decade, as the road was no longer traveled after the city's destruction; it was now at times a temporary home for vagabonds and fugitives, but served no greater political or tactical purpose.

Until for some reason, and certainly not a good one, the cardinal's men had begun moving in to occupy it in the late summer. There was little else nearby _besides_ the ruins of Leá Monde, certainly nothing else the Blades were known to have an interest in. Their motivation being rather obvious, Sydney and Hardin had agreed that they should not be permitted to take it so easily, and the planning had begun.

Certainly Hardin showed no signs of concern about their mission, for he still slept soundly, with only minimal stirring as Sydney had turned in his arms upon waking. His task was perhaps the most risky among their brethren, but it was by necessity either him or Sydney; Hardin was more than capable of a quick covert strike, and Sydney would be of more use elsewhere.

So then, what was this fear that had settled upon him as he watched Hardin sleep?

True enough that there would come a day he had reason to dread the dawning light upon Hardin's face. He had seen enough in his prophecies, however, that he would be able to read the signs coming, and this was certainly not the day he had foreseen. The mission at hand was not without danger, but even if something did go terribly wrong, he knew that Hardin's time had not yet come.

The others who accompanied them... Sydney shifted slightly, turning over to look at the brethren nearby, mostly asleep. Kermiak sat beneath a tree a bit closer to the road, having relieved Aryn to take the second watch, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was possible some of these, some of his most trusted men throughout the years of his priesthood, might not return, though their task was so simple that none of them was particularly concerned it might come to that.

And upon none of them rested that ominous sense that overcame him when he looked back to Hardin.

He might have been too restless, for this time Hardin stirred with a quiet sigh, and after a moment his eyes opened, just a crack, to look upon Sydney. Upon seeing Sydney's eyes open also, he blinked against the haziness, just in case. "...All well?" he mumbled.

 _Is it...?_ "All is well," Sydney assured him. "But that I had hoped my own waking would not wake you before I managed to fall asleep again."

"Mmm. Good," Hardin murmured drowsily, even smiling slightly as he closed his eyes.

Sydney's eyes remained open, pensive as they watched Hardin breathe, slowing to the rhythm of sleep once more. He would never get to sleep himself again if he continued worrying this way, he supposed, and turned his eyes instead to the sky, to the thin crescent of the waning moon overhead. The next night had been chosen because it would be dark - all the easier to find ways to stay out of the Blades' sight. Which was another reason Hardin had been assigned his task rather than Sydney taking it, for if necessary, he could rely on a Sight that did not falter in darkness as human eyes might.

Hardin had, with that Sight, walked through the hold unseen numerous times already. He knew where to go and what to do when his body accompanied him. He had done such things many times, and Sydney would be standing by, ready to act if he found unexpected trouble. If so, those who accompanied them would be able to take over matters outside for a moment, and they would retreat to try again another day.

It was only a small, simple operation. Sydney did not even see how anything _could_ turn such a mission disastrous.

Yet again, after a little while, his head turned back to regard Hardin in the faint moonlight. Though Hardin again slept peacefully, Sydney's feeling of dread had not diminished.

\-----

Though the operation was not complicated, Sydney supposed it might have been easier if it had taken place later in the season - with the coming of winter, the days were growing shorter, and there would have been more night to work with. But then, they would likely have stood out against snow in the darkness, and they would have been much easier to track. Already there was more night than day, and they likely did not need long besides.

And for that matter, the longer into the evening they waited, the more likely the Blades would be caught unprepared. The hold was well-stocked with supplies, but they had not moved so many knights in as of yet - it was little more than a glorified storehouse. Perhaps stranger, they had learned through their reconnaissance that it was no battle-tested warrior among the Blades in charge, nor any of the knights who had thus far led the charge against Sydney and his followers, despite their proximity to Leá Monde. Rather, it was a man Müllenkamp had not yet crossed paths with, Father Raffeyn Bunansa - foreign-born and only recently arrived in Valendia from the sound of it, reportedly more a scholarly fellow than a soldier. It could be that he had been promoted to such an important position due to an unusual talent - Sydney had been made aware some months back that the cardinal was now making use of the Dark he overtly condemned, arming his templars with spells as well as swords. Perhaps this man was a particularly powerful mage, and this aptitude kept secret from his men so as not to unnerve the superstitious or pious among them, but none could say. In fact, in all his surveillance, even Hardin had never managed to scrye him moving about the post he now commanded.

It was a bit of an oddity, but it could be that he came and went, or he kept to himself. Perhaps he did not often wear the trappings of his rank, and Hardin _had_ seen him moving among his men and simply did not know it.

If all went well, none of them would ever lay eyes upon him, Sydney supposed. "How long a count?" he asked Hardin, his voice hushed beneath the cover of the closest copse of trees. "Or will you call?"

"I should think two hundred would be enough," Hardin replied. "Yet you may find yourself with something more to do than count - I will make certain you are ready." Sydney sensed the grim smile, which he knew by heart, more than being able to see it in the darkness. "Though I expect you'll notice when I have finished."

That was all too true. Between the significant movements of the Dark and the inevitable commotion, Sydney should have had no trouble telling when Hardin had completed his task. But still, that sense of dread lingered in the back of his mind. "Yet if something happens beforehand," he reasoned, "and you cannot finish as expected."

"Then I will most assuredly tell you."

Sydney nodded, and on an impulse, leaned forward to give Hardin a quick kiss. "The gods be with you," he murmured.

Hardin's grim smile softened somewhat as he looked down to meet Sydney's eyes. "And with all of you as well - though I know they are never far."

...It was time. Sydney nodded, and turned to those who had accompanied them. "If everyone is ready... I shall begin." The quiet sounds of swords drawn, the lack of any dissent, the taut tension of the hearts around them, all told Sydney his brethren were indeed prepared, and so Sydney stretched out his hand, taking a deep breath.

To summon without a circle was a difficult task, as was maintaining control over a particularly powerful summon, which was why Sydney's talents were best used outside. As the high priest of Müllenkamp's order, he was the only one who could wield such power without endangering his own body and soul, for they were shielded by other powers just as great; though the soft, hissing words of the incantation came easily, the current of the energy they drew forth would have swept away a lesser man as the Dark poured forth, and a bright shining disc appeared before the hold's front gate, hovering well above.

A dragon, he had thought, would be particularly suited in this case, as it was able to attack from above, passing over the outer walls effortlessly. Vulnerable to archers, somewhat, and spellcasters if there were any posted - but catching the Blades unprepared, they would have to scramble for their bows, and the darkness of the sky would make it all the more difficult to aim for anything vital. And certainly it would cause a disruption, which was the main point.

Indeed, had the loud rushing sound of the portal opening and the light shining through not attracted the immediate attention of the sentries posted, the creature's roar and the flapping of great wings overhead would have roused the Blades quickly enough. Shouts erupted from within the hold, cries as the dragon made its first pass, saturating the courtyards behind the gate with its breath. 

Just as planned. "Forward," Sydney ordered, and those who waited within the trees made their way towards the hold - not so close, but close enough that those who were talented mages could augment the dragon's assault with their own while the swordsmen among them stood ready to engage.

The knights present all seemed to have their hands full with the dragon for the moment, however, and Sydney decided it could do as it pleased for a moment while he set Hardin off on his personal task. "You are ready...?"

At his side, Hardin's eyes were not upon the dragon, or the flashes of magic fired over the outer walls of the hold, but somewhere beyond. "I am."

Through a mental rapport, Sydney had seen within the walls of the hold via Hardin's sight, and though the vision was not so clear as it was for Hardin, he knew the central storeroom that Hardin now looked upon, stacked with crates and barrels, but with enough floor left bare to work with. Sydney fixed it in his mind as well, with Hardin's Sight as his guide, and once more raised a hand. "To blacken'd wing and wav'ring light... Delta-Ecksis!"

He waited a moment after Hardin's disappearance, until he had confirmation. _I am in. And as far as I can tell, alone, and likely to remain so, for it is dark._

_Excellent. I will begin the count, then - but do keep me informed if anything should change._

_Of course._

With Hardin in place, Sydney turned his focus back to the dragon that swooped down upon the knights, indignant at their attempts to harm it. It was still doing what he had hoped for without his control, to be honest, but such a beast could turn. Unless it did, he needed very little concentration to keep it on task, and maintaining a slow, regular count at the same time was no trouble.

\-----

Hardin too found that it took very little concentration to keep the count. He and Sydney had done this many a time before, and were well attuned to one another; he could almost hear Sydney's voice within his mind, the familiar rhythm of number and silence, though their rapport had been severed. Sydney must focus on the doings outside, and he...

It was well that he was the one to be sent inside, he supposed, for anyone relying on human vision would have had far more trouble determining where to begin, so as not to be interrupted by some obstacle in the pitch black of a windowless, unlit interior storeroom. Like Sydney, he could summon; unlike Sydney, he could not do so without a circle. It did not have to be a complex one, for he needed no complex beast - just something large enough and strong enough to ruin most or all of the Blades' stores. It might not drive them away immediately, as they had the king's generosity at their disposal as well as the fortune amassed by the church under Cardinal Batistum, and they could certainly ship more goods to replace these. But if this happened often enough, they might just get the idea that they were not welcome so close to Leá Monde.

For something such as a minotaur, little more than the circle itself was required. Having completed it quickly, Hardin checked it by measuring paces from one side to the other, added the small embellishments at the center and along the perimeter. Even in the darkness, the Sight was clear enough, and everything seemed to be in order. Hardin stepped back among the boxes and fell back to normal vision, lifting his hand as Sydney had, to begin his own incantation.

...Something was wrong. Almost from the first, he could tell that the Dark wasn't coming when he called. It wasn't gathering before his outstretched palm. The circle of sand upon the floor, as far as he could tell, remained only sand. Again he began the words, only to halt before finishing. The Dark was simply not responding.

Hardin had been in many dangerous situations, and despite the fact that _nothing_ was happening, he found this very unnerving. _Sydney!_

Even more unnerving, Sydney did not answer.

_Sydney? Sydney, something isn't right here..._

Or, he thought suddenly, what if something wasn't right with Sydney? Immediately he reached out with the Sight, to make certain - and he saw nothing. Again the Dark did not respond, not even when he tried to once again scrye his immediate surroundings in the darkness.

It was with his human eyes that he saw something change. A spark of light from somewhere at the side of the room, glowing brighter a few seconds later; someone had lit a lantern as they entered. Hardin drew his sword.

The man who appeared around the piles of crates, a bit pudgy and in his middle years, did not appear to be interested in fighting, nor was he dressed for it, but only peered through the spectacles perched upon his nose with mild surprise at the sight of Hardin. "Oh - you're not Losstarot."

Hardin said nothing, at least aloud. _Sydney? Sydney!_

His only reply came from the man before him. "Hmm, I suppose that likely makes you John Hardin, the one they call his second...?"

Again Hardin did not answer. He had lost track of the count... One hundred seventy, he thought he recalled, when he had been startled. Perhaps fifteen since.

"Well, whoever you are, I suggest dropping your sword before someone gets hurt." The man smirked as he stepped forward. "And by 'someone'..."

Four archers flanked him, their bows trained on Hardin. One hundred ninety...

The man's smirk vanished as he waited, and received no response. "I'm not fooling with you, boy. Put that down."

...Two hundred. Though he might have miscalculated, having been interrupted. And if Sydney wasn't answering, he might be otherwise occupied. After some consideration, Hardin did let the sword fall to the floor with a clatter, raising his arms. It would do him little good against archers, with a number of crates between them. He had better ways of fighting archers. And likely he wouldn't need to. Any moment now...

...Any moment...

"Very good," the man said with a nod. "Even if you're not Losstarot, you'll serve my purposes well enough for now." He gestured to the knights at his left. "Go on, bind him."

No fool, clearly. But although there were still two bows trained on him, Hardin supposed he could manage that, particularly with the contents of the storeroom to make use of. As the other two knights approached, he abruptly dropped to the floor, taking up his sword again on his way to duck behind the cover of some crates. _Sydney, I've been found out - Sydney!_

Hardin was now well and truly worried about what may be happening to Sydney that he could not answer, but if he needed to stay and defend himself for a time, he would. He didn't even need to see his targets to cast a spell in their direction from behind the crates, hearing the sound of their footfalls approaching...

...He did, however, need the Dark, and the Dark was not responding to his spellcasting either.

Although he did attempt to take the two knights down, tackling one at the knees and shoving him into the other as he fell, the two that remained with bows drawn were still present when he rolled to his feet. He barely escaped an arrow by ducking behind another row of crates, and from there he attempted to find a route towards the door that would keep him reasonably covered... except that again, without the Dark's assistance, the Sight escaped him.

All he could do was try to run for the exit, but the other archer was still prepared; though his arrow nicked Hardin's swordarm, Hardin managed not to drop his weapon as he charged the crates before him, throwing his shoulder into them to topple them, thereby creating a distraction as he dashed towards the door.

It was unlikely to succeed to begin with, and he knew it, but he still kicked at the knights who had regained their footing and come after him, tackling him to the ground and pinning him as the other two closed in to help.

He could not summon. He could not cast. Four knights held him down, the Sight showed him nothing, and Sydney wasn't responding. Yet surely any second now, as soon as Sydney was not busy with whatever else he must have been preoccupied with... 

...Unless something _had_ happened to Sydney. The thought was more alarming to Hardin than his own current predicament - but Sydney was immortal, even if he had been struck down, he would rise again. He would hear Hardin's call, and when he was able...

The man holding the lantern came to stand before him as well, looking down at Hardin, prone on the floor of the storeroom. "You must be very confused right now. As you can see, you are helpless - it would make it easier on yourself as well as us if you would simply surrender."

Hardin still had not responded, nor had Sydney answered his silent calls, before he had been forced to his feet, hands bound behind his back.

\-----

Outside the hold, Sydney was a bit puzzled, but not yet overly concerned. He had expected Hardin to finish his summoning shortly before - though not long before, for it was an apt estimation - the count had completed. But perhaps there had been some minor delay, not worth pausing to contact those on the outside. The need to move something out of the way, or someone entering unexpectedly who must be dealt with. He had not sensed anyone using the Dark within, so if that were the case, the interloper must have been taken down by more mundane physical methods, in which Hardin was also well-versed.

In the meantime, the majority of the knights who had been stationed at the hold continued to be occupied at the front of the hold, between the dragon and the brethren's spells. Some of the Blades had exited the gate and tried to approach, to stop the onslaught at its source, but only a few had come close enough to require the swordsmen to act. Still, Sydney was aware that they could not persist in this forever, and Hardin had had considerably longer than his estimation to complete his task... yet there was still no commotion within, no feel of the Dark rushing to obey a master's commands. Nor had Hardin called to him, to keep him apprised, and so it was Sydney who called out through the mindspeak instead. _How goes it, Hardin?_

He received no response, and _that_ was when Sydney began to become concerned. Again, _Hardin? We are waiting on your word - whether to remain or to draw back, please inform us._ It was not like Hardin to not reply to his voice, even were his attention otherwise occupied.

Moreover... when he reached out with the Dark, he could not sense Hardin's presence. That was far more unnerving, though he knew that if anything had happened to Hardin - if, the gods forbid, he had been wounded or even passed before he could so much as call to Sydney - he should have sensed that as well. But no, he sensed... nothing. Nothing at all, beyond the knights doing battle with his dragon and his brethren.

And the dragon, now wounded and angry, was becoming more difficult to control. If he continued on this way, he would not have the capacity to cast the spell that would return Hardin to his side. Yet if he dismissed the dragon, that placed a greater burden on the brethren for their own defense.

Something had gone very wrong, and Sydney decided he had no choice. Whether their mission was complete or not, even if it did give the dragon a bit more rein for a moment, he needed to get Hardin out of there so the brethren could withdraw. But again, when he reached out with the Dark, seeking Hardin, it was as if his presence had disappeared.

"Sydney!" Kermiak's voice, a short distance away on the front line. As an experienced soldier who had been with Sydney many years, the finer details of the battle were under his authority in Hardin's absence. "Our spellcasters are tiring - how is Hardin coming along?"

Sydney didn't know how to respond to that. It wouldn't do to have the others worried and distracted at such a time. "...I will find out," he called back at last. "Go on, fall back. I will banish the dragon, and then bring Hardin."

Kermiak simply nodded, and called out to the others. Once he could sense the brethren beginning to retreat back towards the trees, Sydney relinquished the very irritable dragon back to the realm from which it had come. Having done that, he was free to concentrate - but he still could not sense Hardin, nor could the Dark find him to bring him out. Even so, he spoke the words. The Dark came at his call, as always, but it merely whorled about harmlessly before falling away.

There were still knights about, rushing in his direction, thinking to give chase even in the night. The brethren _needed_ to retreat - and that meant, if necessary, he would go in himself to find Hardin and bring him back. He recalled the storeroom where he had sent Hardin, pictured it within his mind, and spoke the incantation. Again the Dark responded, and he felt it gather about him... and yet he remained there, outside the hold.

The knights that were trailing his brethren, having not yet noticed his still presence in the darkness, at least gave him an acceptable way to relieve some of his frustration and the sudden outrage; they were engulfed in the magic before they could identify from whence it had come. Yet Sydney's anger remained. What had they done inside the hold that he couldn't sense Hardin's presence, that he could neither latch onto him with the Dark and pull him to safety, nor go to him? Nor even hear the sound of his voice, to know what was happening? Serenity be damned, he thought - _Hardin! Answer me!_

They had fallen back to the trees; the knights must have realized that they were no match for trained spellcasters under the cover of darkness, for they too gave the order to retreat and regroup. The outing had done quite a bit of damage to them, even without Hardin's work having been completed inside... and Sydney silently cursed himself, for it was easier than the sudden fear that gripped him. Why had he let Hardin go alone? Why had he, personally, sent Hardin there with his own magic? 

Kermiak, still breathing heavily from the exertion of fighting and running, was at his side. "All accounted for and largely unharmed," he reported. "But for Hardin. What has become of Hardin, Sydney?"

More than merely soldiers fighting for a common cause, those who had taken part in this mission were friends, brothers. They had lost their fellows before, and mourned each loss, but... this was Hardin. Kermiak's concern was for both his commander and his companion; his tone was stoic, but his heart teemed with worry. 

Making matters worse, Sydney didn't know. Uncertainty was not something he had been acquainted with in recent years - and not something his brethren were accustomed to seeing from the leader of their sect.

"He lives," Sydney said, and prayed that he was correct. It _must_ be true, for close as he was to Hardin, he would have known. "Yet he is beyond my reach at present." This too seemed to be true, although Sydney couldn't comprehend why. Turning to Kermiak, he fixed the man with a firm look, and offered him the most truthful answer he could give. "Fear not - I have no intention of abandoning him."

Kermiak, trusting soul that he was when it came to his high priest, nodded. "Say the word and we will go."

Of course he would, as would they all, for Hardin _was_ their brother. But they were worn, tired... And Sydney would not put them at risk by sending them into an unknown situation. As he had with Hardin.

Again he silently cursed himself, for that choice and the one he now must make. Whatever had become of Hardin, whatever _may_ become of Hardin, Hardin would have sacrificed himself on the brethren's behalf, and had proven it many times over already. Sydney shook his head, and nearly snapped the words. "We must return to Leá Monde - the safety of all our men are our highest priority. ...He would say the same," he added, more softly.

He himself would take responsibility for this, Sydney thought. He must accompany his battle-weary kin back to the city, to ensure their safe return along paths the knights were known to prowl, but he would come back. Perhaps by then Hardin would even have escaped whatever situation had delayed him, he told himself, and they would meet upon the road.

An anxiety he had not felt so strongly for years had gripped him, he nearly trembled, but Sydney fought the urge to look over his shoulder at the hold as their party began to move out. He had not Hardin's talent to See... he would find no answers by looking.

But he would, he vowed as he joined his brethren, find answers. He _must_. At the moment some hope remained for him to cling to, as this was not how he had foreseen Hardin's end, but there were still any number of troubles that might befall him before that day.


	2. Chapter 2

It was not the first time that Hardin had found himself in such a situation as this. When his crimes had been uncovered by his superiors in the PeaceGuard, for instance. His hands had been bound before him rather than behind his back, he had been given a seat while he was questioned, but the similarity was enough to make his mind shiver in fear, the memory having burned into his soul. And then on the other hand, it was also not unlike how he had first been introduced to Sydney.

Unlike when he had been captured by Sydney's men, he was quite certain that those who had taken him, who now stood watchfully at his side, were not to become his truest friends. Unlike when he sat respectfully and humbly before his superiors, he permitted himself a disdainful stare at the man who now would question him, seated comfortably in an extravagant upholstered seat behind a fine mahogany desk littered with parchments and books, in what appeared to serve as an office or perhaps study. Though they had not occupied the hold long, apparently the man had moved in quickly, for the shelves at his back held many volumes and a number of strange artifacts. The skull of some creature, a few carven figurines, a number of roughly hewn minerals...

"Now, I know you are no mute," the man patronized him, "as I heard you _attempt_ to cast your spells. Will you confirm to me that you are, as I had guessed, John Hardin? Or is even your name itself such a misdeed that you would not confess to it?" Upon receiving no reply but for the continued dark stare, he simply shrugged. "Well then, whether you are or not, that is what I will call you until you say otherwise."

The man had a touch of an accent - a lilt to his words, a shortness about the way he pronounced certain syllables that named him an outlander. "And you would be Father Raffeyn Bunansa," Hardin growled, "should I similarly make assumptions."

"I find no shame in it," the man responded. "But my name matters little to you. And your name matters little to me, aside from determining just how much you may be privy to regarding Losstarot's doings - and how much your captivity may be worth. The Blades have been looking into your lot, and they know which of you may fetch a price."

"An interesting way to phrase it," Hardin retorted. "Sydney cannot be bought."

"Not with coin, no," Father Raffeyn agreed. "But I will give him credit for this - he does seem to truly care for those of his flock. If he would take an arrow for any of his acolytes, what might he do for the one who warms his bed...?"

Which was, of course, precisely why Hardin had not confirmed his identity. He and Sydney had never spoken of this specific matter in so many words, and that was likely because they both understood without either being told; they both had bounties on their heads, but even had Hardin not been known as Sydney's second, and himself a nuisance to the Blades in his own right, to be the paramour of Müllenkamp's high priest meant his life could be used as leverage.

Once having such a thing voiced aloud among others would have made Hardin angry, or at the least flush with embarrassment. The years between had eroded any shame he had once felt; if the man thought to provoke him, he would be sorely disappointed, for Hardin remained still and silent.

Father Raffeyn did not seem to care one way or the other. "Yes, we've learned rather a lot about your little fellowship of heretics, down to the smallest details," he continued. "You might be surprised at the number of routes through which we gain our information."

Rosencrantz, Hardin thought with disgust - he and Sydney both knew well the man was double-dealing, perhaps triple. Seeing as he and Hardin were only barely tolerant of one another's presence, Hardin would have thought Rosencrantz responsible for his current situation, if not for the fact that Sydney had conveniently sent him off on an errand a week past, before their plans had been swiftly made. 

...And then there was the fact that Rosencrantz's inborn talent granted through the Dark was that he was _immune_ to the Dark. Perhaps this man was the same... though it would not have explained why Hardin couldn't scrye elsewhere now, for he had utilized his own talent while Rosencrantz was about. It had worked as well as it ever had, so long as he did not try to turn the powers on Rosencrantz himself. A curious thing...

"And you, Hardin..." Father Raffeyn mused, leaning back in his seat and looking up at him, hands tied and positioned between two knights. "Much of what I've learned of you could be found easily in the public archives. To be honest, I am more a man of knowledge than of faith," he said dismissively. "And so upon learning of your stature within the cult, I took it upon myself to do a bit of further research. A shame, what became of your family... your inability to save your brother's life. Little wonder that you went chasing after such faerie stories as ancient gods, allowed yourself to be bewitched by your master's dark arts..."

He _was_ trying to provoke him, Hardin thought. Yet his telling of the tale showed just how little the Father truly knew about him, for he had not entered easily into partnership with Sydney, nor had Sydney intended to draw him in. In fact, Hardin supposed, Sydney himself had provided the perfect rebuke for this man's assumptions. "You know less of Sydney and myself than you believe," Hardin replied evenly. "I may share his bed, yes. Others also have done so. It is not a matter of favoritism, for as you have said, he cares for all his followers. He would not put himself, and therefore the rest of our brethren, at risk for my sake, for I am a lone man among many. If he stood before us now, I would bid him go, and godspeed as he did so."

"Well, we'll see about that," the Father said mildly. "In the morn, I will send an emissary to ask him."

Hardin's throat tightened; he did not actually entirely believe what he had just said. Even so... "You waste your time and your men. He is no fool - he will not walk into an obvious trap for one such as I."

"Be that as it may." Raffeyn seemed inclined to humor him. "While we wait and see, I'd be interested to hear what you have to say about Losstarot, and about his alleged immortality in particular. My superiors and I are especially intrigued by the matter."

"I can offer little enlightenment upon that," Hardin stated. And what he did know could be said openly, for it was no secret, but a mystery. "The gods have granted it to him. If Sydney's immortality is what you seek, I suggest you and your superiors might start by not slaughtering those who serve his gods, for that is no way to gain similar favor."

The man actually chuckled. "Your reasoning seems sound... if naive. Or perhaps disingenuous. Are you being stubborn? Or is it that he has never told you the truth behind his power...?"

Sydney had certainly never said more about it, but that it was unusual even among Müllenkamp's priesthood. If there was some secret to it that he had not shared with Hardin, Hardin supposed it was none of his business. And if there were, and he had been aware of it, by no means would he have shared it with this man.

"Well," Raffeyn said with a faint sigh at Hardin's lack of response, "it is rather late. Your little siege has kept us all awake. Perhaps you will feel more conversational in the morning."

"I doubt that very much."

"Oh, I wouldn't make up my mind just yet, if I were you."

Something about the sly tone of his voice made Hardin very uneasy all of a sudden. The Blades ... had ways of persuading their captives to talk.

"Already tomorrow," Raffeyn said, leaning forward to take up some of the papers strewn across his desk, "in addition to sending an emissary to your companion Sydney, I had planned to send word of your capture to the church in Valnain as well. We have had no need for inquisitors at this outpost until now - but I'm sure they will be happy to share."

So he had torture to look forward to. Not yet for another two days at the least... Sydney might work out how to bring him out by then. Or perhaps he might have a chance to forge his own path. Hardin told himself he would worry about inquisitors if and when they arrived - he had more pressing things to think about now.

"In the meantime," the man continued, almost absently, "I believe you will find your accommodations here rather nostalgic." He looked up from his papers again, giving Hardin a small, smug smile. "If what I have read of you is accurate, you were held many months in one of the king's dungeons, were you not?"

Hardin stiffened. The implication of his words...

"And I have heard that men so detained often develop a sort of... instinctual terror, after being held in such surroundings. They fear being enclosed, underground, trapped within walls of stone." He raised an eyebrow at Hardin knowingly. "Though I could be wrong. Perhaps you will find it comfortably familiar."

Only the fact that he knew - _knew_ , with certainty - that the Father was trying to coax an emotional reaction out of him kept Hardin still and silent. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, but he made no protest, not even a sound.

Neither did he let himself be tempted into trying to overcome the knights at his side as they took him by the arms at a gesture from Raffeyn. He would not give the man the satisfaction of seeing him panic and fight helplessly. He would not make it easy - the knight at his left had to kick his leg to force him to start walking - but he would not let this bastard see him crumble.

A difficult task, when the dingy tunnels beneath the hold were so similar - the stone of a different color than those that haunted his dreams, those whose rough shapes and sizes he still recalled for having nothing more to look upon. And the stairwell, leading down to what might have been a tomb, if not for the torches lit along the way, casting shadows that danced over the walls and the bars of iron set therein... He faltered as Raffeyn turned a key in one of the locks, swinging the door open with a creak; the knights at his side were not expecting the resistance he had not given until that point, and he managed to wrench himself free, tripping one of them before the other managed to grasp him again more tightly and shove him towards the cell, letting him tumble inside.

Already facing away from the door, face almost to the ground, Hardin squeezed his eyes closed as he heard it close behind him, the click of the lock. "Keep this with you," he heard Raffeyn quietly telling one of the knights, now his prison guards. "He shouldn't be able to cause any real trouble. We'll see how it stands in the morning." The soft footsteps of a scholar, rather than the heavy footfalls of booted soldiers, disappeared back towards the stairwell.

He would not panic. Hardin was determined that he would absolutely not panic. He would keep his eyes closed for the moment, until he had calmed himself. He could not be suffocating, no matter how much it seemed so. 

Sydney had known of this weakness of his. Sydney had taught him a spell... and Hardin had learned on his own how he might free himself of the relatively simple binding of his wrists. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on that, the gradual but steady maneuvering and stretching of the ropes. Even the pain of them rubbing against his skin repeatedly was welcome as a distraction from his surroundings, and at last he managed to slip one hand free, using it to pull the ropes away entirely.

And then there was the spell. There were guards standing just outside his cell, but they likely would not know what he could do. If he approached the bars, it was to do no more than test them, presumably. He placed his fingers in the appropriate gesture, murmured the words of a spell that would open locks.

Just as when he had tried to summon earlier, nothing at all happened. Not even when he tried a second time. 

In his sudden desperation and frustration, he yanked at the bars, shaking them hard enough that the guards looked to him, smirking at the futility. ...All right, he conceded. So it hadn't been Raffeyn himself who was preventing him from casting. Unless he had been placed under some sort of enchantment... or curse...

He couldn't bring himself to think much upon the matter under the circumstances, however. He was in a stone cell, underground. He could not free himself. He was going to be there... at least overnight. He paced to the back and then again to the fore, and told himself he was in no _true_ danger - he was merely being held in a cell, and... either Sydney would find some way to break him free from it, or he would be brought up for questioning again, and he might make an escape then. He just had to... He closed his eyes. He had to stay where he was, and stay calm.

At other times when he had needed to be in small spaces, or deep underground, he recalled he had used his talent to escape. Yes - even if his body was in a prison cell, it could no longer hold _him_ , for he could scrye. His spirit could simply walk out, go anywhere, see the open sky...

But just as when he had tried the spell of unlocking, the Dark was as unresponsive as it had been ever since Raffeyn had appeared in the storeroom. Though he tried, he could see nothing.

...Until he opened his eyes again, which was a mistake.

There he was, and it seemed there he was to remain. Raffeyn had said they would speak again in the morning. Hardin would have nothing to say to him, but he would likely get that reprieve. All he must do was wait.

Hardin made himself settle against the back wall of the cell. Sitting down, leaning back against the rough stone, eyes closed once more. ...He was not there, he decided. Not anymore. He was dreaming. It was just the same dream again, the same as always. And as always, he would wake, and he would be elsewhere. In Sydney's room in Leá Monde, in traveling blankets, likely in Sydney's arms in either case.

Yes... that was where he was. This was naught but a dream.

Slowly, without conscious action, Hardin's legs curled up against his chest, as he tried to disappear into the dream in truth.

\-----

The return trip to Leá Monde was quiet, tense. Those who Sydney and Hardin had chosen to carry out the attack on the Blades' new outpost were largely those with whom they had worked alongside for years, rather than those who were drawn to Müllenkamp for the civil unrest that was now known to follow in Sydney's wake. These men were those they knew well, who worked well together. Those whose trust in Sydney was steadfast.

Even when Sydney was convinced that he had made a terrible mistake in judgment. He had spent much of the night's travel silently seething, perhaps because it was less miserable than silently despairing. And then of course, those who knew him so well as these recognized the signs of his wrath, and despite their belief in him, they knew to let him be. Presumably they believed his fury to be aimed at the Blades, which was understandable and acceptable. Likely they had no idea he was every bit as furious with himself.

He had been warned, he thought. That strange feeling the night before, the sense of dread as he watched Hardin sleep - it must have been no coincidence, but a premonition. Even recognizing it now, he was not sure what it was a premonition _of_ , if not Hardin's death. His assumption was that it could not have been - unless something had changed, unless he had done something to avert the future he had seen. He had been told some time ago that not all was set in stone, but some of the visions had never changed in all the years they had been shown to him, and Hardin's eventual fate was one of them.

Beyond his primary concern for Hardin's wellbeing, there was a secondary concern, regarding _why_ he was now concerned for Hardin's wellbeing. His control over the dragon had not failed, he had cast spells upon the pursuing knights as they retreated. He had healed a few minor injuries among the brethren, and he felt the sense of them around him as they made their way home, worrying about Hardin's safety just as he. Why had he not been able to sense Hardin, or call out to him? Why had the Dark not been able to bring him out, or to send Sydney within? It was as if the Dark simply was unable to obey his commands as they related to Hardin - or perhaps something or someone near Hardin. His mind too had turned to Rosencrantz, the viper in their midst, but he was familiar with how the Dark behaved around Rosencrantz, and it had never refused to touch someone _else_ in his presence.

But mostly, his concern was for Hardin. If not for the need to protect the rest of his brethren, Sydney would have turned around and gone back at once. Particularly when it occurred to him that if the Dark was not relaying the sense of Hardin, he could not be sure that he would have heard Hardin call out to him, or felt ... anything that might have happened to him.

Their party had rested in the afternoon and evening before approaching the hold, so once the spellcasters had recovered some of their strength afterward from so much casting, they could spend the rest of the night in swift travel. They would be close enough to finish the journey back to Leá Monde by midday, where they could then sleep in the security the dark city afforded them. By mid-morning, Sydney was sure enough of the safety of the road ahead that he had made up his mind. Adjusting his steps to fall into pace beside Kermiak, he asked him quietly. "Are you confident that you can bring our brethren home safely from here?"

Kermiak's face, already slightly troubled, grew just barely more so, but he nodded. "It seems unlikely the Blades could have managed to move many of their men between here and the city without us having seen them along the way. Anything they _did_ manage, I'm sure our men can handle."

"Very good."

Having said so, Sydney merely waited for the inevitable question, and he did not have to wait long. "You're going back?"

Sydney's gaze was distant, fixed on the horizon, the ruins of Leá Monde just barely visible ahead. "I did tell you last night that I would not abandon him."

"Even if you hadn't said so aloud, I would never have expected the thought to cross your mind." Kermiak paused. "Let Aryn take charge of our men, Domenic can scout ahead of them. I'll go with you."

Sydney had expected as much, and shook his head automatically before considering. Then again, he considered. It had felt as though something inside the hold had been blocking the Dark from moving from without to within, after the initial spell to send Hardin inside. If he could not use the Dark, a swordsman more skilled than himself might be of use...

And then yet again, Hardin was a swordsman more skilled than himself, possibly more skilled than Kermiak, and he had presumably been taken. "No," he confirmed after a brief hesitation. "I trust the others to have the situation well in hand, yes, but there is..." He considered how to put it. "...something unusual in that place. I would not risk you."

"Not that I doubt the gods or their chosen," Kermiak responded, "but next to _you_ , I'm quite expendable. And besides, I am not the only one who would volunteer. Any of us would if asked. Several of us would unless you expressly forbid it."

This too was a fair point. Beyond Sydney himself, all were equals within their fellowship. It made no difference that Hardin so frequently was considered to have an additional measure of authority among them - he did not ask it, but it was freely offered. Kermiak would have risked his life to defend his leader or to save his commander, but had Hardin not served that role, he would have gone back for the most helpless among them as well.

Between that, and the idea that he may need assistance from those whose specialty was in physical battle rather than magical, Sydney found himself reconsidering. He _could_ choose a few with varying complementary talents to go back with him, and...

It was an icy stab to his heart, realizing that he was so accustomed to Hardin being at his side that his first thought had been to let Hardin guide the rest of the brethren home.

He might have been silent too long, giving away the fact that he was considering it. "I trust your judgment is such that you would not have offered, had you thought you were worn too thin."

Kermiak recognized what that must mean, and smiled a bit as he shook his head. "I've seen worse."

"Indeed." Kermiak's suggestion of how to handle the rest of the brethren if he and Sydney left seemed sound as well. "Yet as I have said, I would rather not risk you - and if I am to do so, I would take a few other willing volunteers to offer all of us more coverage. None whose primary role is to cast..." Sydney even had another valid reason for that. "They've been worked too hard already, and must sleep before they can be ready for battle again."

Kermiak nodded thoughtfully. "Would you like recommendations?"

"I have a few already in mind." Sydney would need to approach each of them, to feel the sense of them before asking. If any was found to be weary, he would move on to someone else without a word of what he'd intended - for Kermiak was correct, anyone he asked would have agreed regardless of how weary they might be, and not all were so wise as to tell him.

And Sydney himself...? He'd expended much energy with the summoning, and logically speaking, he must need rest as the other spellcasters did. However, being the high priest of Müllenkamp's order - as well as certain specific details of that status - meant he could last longer than ordinary men. As well, he had a certain amount of assurance that his time had not come, based upon what he had been given to see of the future.

Granted, that time was almost certainly approaching, and fast. And it was not as if he could not cause a great deal of disruption to the gods' plans if he were to become careless. He would call upon them, he would pray as he and his smaller party departed, and he would listen to whatever guidance they might offer. All the more so since Hardin was also one of their beloved children, and important to their workings. They surely would guide him to success, regardless of whether or not he had properly rested.

And even if Sydney had needed to sleep, he knew it would be impossible, not knowing what had become of Hardin.

\-----

It was much the same as any other time he had dreamed the dream. If he opened his eyes he would see the dancing shadows on the walls, the bored shifting and pacing of the guards, the old blackened metal of the bars, crude stone closing him in. He would just wait, his eyes closed. Soon he would wake.

An unfamiliar factor, however, aroused some vague curiosity in his drowsing mind enough for him to take note. A voice that did not belong to any of the familiar guards, sharper and brighter, followed the footsteps he absently heard descending the stairs. "Mmm, all seems well... I assume he gave you no trouble." A pause, as one of the guards gave a reply that seemed to blur into the rest of the dream. "I thought he might."

Though curious, Hardin was not quite so curious as to open his eyes, but merely listened to the half of the conversation he could hear in that distinct voice. "Yes, precisely. You may as well hold onto it for now - you'll both be accompanying the two of us, he and I."

Hardin's eyes flew open with a start at the sudden sound of someone pounding on the bars at the front of his cell. Instinctively his fists clenched, though he knew he couldn't-

"Good morning, Hardin," the owner of that voice greeted him in too friendly a fashion. "Might you be interested in a bit of breakfast?"

...Not the particular guard Hardin recalled as having the obnoxious habit of kicking the bars to wake him, but a different obnoxious personage - and it all returned to him in a rush, reminding him that this was not a dream.

"Even if you have no appetite," Raffeyn continued, reaching for the lock set upon the bars, "I imagine you'd like some time out of this miserable place, would you not?"

That was true. Very, very true. But Hardin had endured plenty of torment in his life, and he had no desire to play into the Father's hands so predictably. He watched the man turn the key in the lock, watched the iron bars swing wide of the stone...

Hardin closed his eyes again, leaning his head back against the wall as if he could not be bothered. Raffeyn's kindness was no kindness, and he would not pretend that it was.

"Hmph, you're a stubborn one," Raffeyn muttered. "But all men, however proud, have a breaking point."

Yes, Hardin thought, and he had reached it nearly five years before. This man could do nothing to him any worse than what he had already experienced, though he might attempt to mimic it.

"Bring him out anyway," Raffeyn ordered the guards, stepping back towards the stairwell. "I see he's escaped his bonds - well, he'll likely escape them again, so why bother? Just keep your swords at his back."

The first of the guards that entered the narrow cell was met by Hardin's boot, striking upward firmly in his gut. Hardin pulled him down at his side with the momentum of the knight doubling over in surprise and pain, in the same motion rolled to his feet - and the other knight's sword was at his throat at the door of the cell.

Raffeyn had turned back at the commotion. "Oh, come now, Hardin. You're no fool, are you? You know your situation is hopeless. Now - we're going to have a little breakfast, and a little talk."

The knight Hardin had taken down was now behind him, recovered enough to have his own sword at Hardin's back. ...Very well, then - he would go where they forced him, but as for "a little breakfast and a little talk"? He thought not.

\-----

"Truly? You would have me believe that you aren't hungry?"

Raffeyn had had the knights escort Hardin back to the study where he had been questioned the night before. The desk had been cleared of its untidiness somewhat, to make room for a small tray of assorted breakfast fare which the Father was enjoying, and Hardin was refusing.

"Perhaps you did not get enough rest...?" Raffeyn mused, picking at some toasted bread idly. "Or your... quarters... were off-putting somehow?"

Indeed. It was hard to explain, Hardin thought, how his stomach could both growl and turn at the same time. Even if he had been only hungry, despite the single tray which they both were to eat from - minimizing the chance of any unusual "seasonings" - he would have none of Raffeyn's playing at hospitality.

Raffeyn looked up at him again, slightly irritable. "You could at least sit, as you were invited."

Indeed, there was a chair at his back, and he had ignored its presence since the knights had marched him before it. Suddenly he could do so no longer, as Raffeyn gestured at one of the knights, who simply shoved it into his knees from behind, forcing the matter.

"Much better. I suggest you _do_ eat - you will need your strength, if you hope to keep up this obstinance. And although you are worth more alive than dead, you may not be needed for long. You might as well enjoy these pleasures of the flesh while you still have it."

It was absurd that this man, studious and physically unimposing, could speak as though he were a threat to Hardin, even with two armed knights at his side. Even with many dozen more knights within the hold - the Dark, and Hardin's strength in it, would have been enough of an advantage that he could have made his escape. If he could have used it. And if he could have used it, he would not be sitting in this man's study, flanked by the Crimson Blades' swords, forced to watch him casually eat his breakfast.

Just in case, just out of curiosity, Hardin muttered one of the words of power under his breath. A minor enchantment, nothing that would have affected anyone present but himself, no effect that anyone but he would have noticed. And yet, still, the Dark did not react to his command.

"What was that?" Raffeyn asked, arching an eyebrow. After a moment of Hardin's continued silence, it occurred to him, and he dared to smirk. "Ah, of course. I might admire your persistence, the way you cling to hope even when it is lost - or I might have overestimated you. You might just be a fool after all."

"Is there any point to this summons?" Hardin growled. "I tire of your false pleasantries."

"More than you had tired of that cell?" 

Again Hardin neglected to answer. There was, at least, that.

"On another day, I should have invited you up sooner," Raffeyn stated, taking a cluster of grapes from the platter between them. "I had a very busy morning... Taking stock of the damage wrought by your fellows, writing up the report to send to Valnain. Along with the request for a few skilled inquisitors, naturally - I might have sent the latter last night, but I prefer efficiency. And, of course, an envoy was to be sent to Leá Monde as well."

"If you prefer efficiency," Hardin could not refrain from retorting, "you might have saved yourself that effort."

"I may have overestimated you," Raffeyn remarked, "but I believe you sell yourself short. Surely you can't believe your _Sydney_ thinks so little of you? Since I joined with Batistum's cause, and particularly since accepting this post, I've been reading the reports of the Blades' past encounters with Müllenkamp. You may be a pack of troublemakers and anarchists, but I've found many instances of your comrades - even Losstarot himself - putting themselves in harm's way to protect one another. Heretics or otherwise, you _are_ a brotherhood, and Losstarot faithful to those who have chosen to follow him. He will come."

"Faithful, yes, but not to the point of self-sacrifice," Hardin argued. "He is too important, and he knows it. All of us do - we would not expect him to put himself at serious risk for any of us."

Yet... Hardin was not certain of that. He might have been only imposing his own heart upon Sydney's, for if it were Sydney who had been taken captive, he would have done whatever was necessary to free him. He would not have been able to keep himself away. But he had sworn an oath - he belonged to Sydney. Sydney did not belong to him, and Sydney was a part of the gods' grand design, one for whom a great destiny awaited. He would not reach that great destiny if he dared to place Hardin's fate above his own.

As much as his heart wanted to cry out for Sydney, particularly after the miserable night he had spent in the underground cell, it would have been both selfish and unrealistic to hope that he might come. Rather, Hardin hoped that he would not. Whatever it was that Raffeyn was doing, that he could not use the Dark in this place...

"Hmm..." Raffeyn peered at him with sudden thoughtfulness. "Then you believe I pose a serious risk to him, do you?"

Hardin scoffed. "You flatter yourself."

But then again - if he could not use the Dark... what if Sydney could not use the Dark? It would have explained why he couldn't contact Sydney, and why Sydney had been unable to draw him out at the appointed time.

...What if being separated from the Dark, which restored and maintained his earthly body, meant that Sydney would no longer have his immortality to protect him?

A chill ran down Hardin's spine, and he hoped his sudden fear was not visible to Father Raffeyn, who now regarded him with a secretive smirk.

\-----

It was fortuitous that Sydney had brought mostly his longest-serving, most trusted men to accompany him on the mission to the hold, for it was then a simple matter to find a handful among them who were strong enough to turn back - particularly as the majority of them had known Hardin for many years as well, and shared the same sense of urgency that would not have allowed Sydney to sleep. If they must rest only sparingly for another two days, it was more than worth rescuing their friend. 

As well, he was familiar with their individual strengths. If they could use the Dark, some possessed talents that might aid them in determining where Hardin was being held, or befuddle the knights that they would likely be facing. Several of them knew a few basic spells that could be used to augment their companions' strength or heal minor wounds. If they could not, all were well-versed in their weapons of choice, which they already carried. Aiden and William were skilled with the bow, and in the absence of spells, they might still attack from a distance. Kermiak and Rowan were swordsmen, Dolphus had taken well to polearms. Aside from spellcasting, the five of them could cover a multitude of possible scenarios - and if the Dark responded, Sydney would make up for that lack on his own.

The six of them parted ways with their brethren before midday, Sydney offering a prayer and blessing for all before each party bid the other farewell and the best of fortune. Those who continued on to Leá Monde likely needed no such kindnesses, but already within the last day they all had seen what seemed to be a simple plan turn troublesome. Despite his uncertainty about the details, Sydney _did_ trust his gods to watch over and guide their children, and their children to act wisely in the face of trouble.

And if he was not so trusting of his own human judgment, or his ability to properly interpret the gods' guidance...? He couldn't imagine what they possibly could have intended or anticipated that he would do _but_ go back in search of Hardin.

With only the few of them, all physically strong and having the benefit of a disused but mostly intact road to follow, they made excellent time throughout the afternoon, pausing briefly so that they might steal an hour's rest within the cover of the trees to refresh themselves. Even Sydney attempted it, knowing that they numbered few enough to attract notice from a casual passerby along the road, and none would be seeking them there. He kept watch even so... for although his eyes were closed, he could not sleep, and his mind remained restless. If anyone had come near, he would have sensed them before they drew close enough to see.

As the road they followed now led only to a near-impassable passage leading into a ruined, haunted city, it was unexpected when shortly after setting out again, Sydney _did_ sense someone ahead, and heading in that direction. All of them agreed with his suspicions, for there was little _other_ reason someone might make for Leá Monde.

Sydney found himself not overly concerned. He had tested his magic, and found the Dark as responsive as ever. Those who approached outnumbered his party, but not by so much that they could not be felled by a spell and an ambush by the archers, who he bid conceal themselves in the untended overgrowth beyond the road's edge. He and the others would let themselves be seen, thereby drawing the Blades out if they thought to attack.

Instead, the dozen men who lay ahead came to a halt upon sighting Sydney and his men from afar. Though their dress indicated that they were indeed of the Blades, it was only light armor, and they were not heavily armed. Certainly they had not been intending to lay siege to Leá Monde in revenge, nor did they seem prepared for a proper battle with anyone, much less Sydney.

...Unless they thought him harmless without his magic. Sydney murmured a spell of protection, and felt it settle around him and his men. No, they were not blocking him from using the Dark.

They also remained at a distance, however, and were not immediately inclined to approach too closely. "Losstarot, stand down!" one of them called out. "We come to speak, not to do harm."

Although Sydney did not tend to use his talent unnecessarily, the Blades had long ago passed the limits of his generosity; he bid the Dark go forth, listen to the whispers within the man's heart. Almost at once, Sydney leveled a smirk at him - his voice might have been clear and strong, but he knew of Sydney's power, and he was terrified. "You speak indeed, and I see in your heart that you even speak truly," he replied, raising his voice just enough to be heard across the distance between them. "But it is rather rude of yourself not to introduce yourself when you already know my name... Sir Howell." Best that they remember his power, and not change their minds about attempting to do them harm.

Afraid though the man was, he was resolved. "The both of us know we are at odds, and any symbolic attempt at pleasantry would be a falsehood," he called back. "Though as I said, we intend you no harm - may we have the same assurance, that we may speak man to man?"

Those around him, as well as the two archers crouching in the brush, awaited his word. In this case, the answer seemed obvious enough to Sydney, and he nodded, gesturing to his men to lower their weapons for the moment. The archers, however, would remain in place at his silent direction.

The rest of the Blades also stood down for the moment, following at a short distance as Howell approached Sydney, who likewise stepped forward between the knights and his own men. "I bring word from Father Raffeyn Bunansa."

Part of his alarm, it seemed, was that Howell had not expected they might encounter Sydney so soon. A bit insulting, when it was clear what message he was to bring. "Did he think we would not return for our brother without an invitation?"

Howell hesitated, and shook his head. "I do not question what my commanders may be thinking - I merely do as they require of me. He would have you know that John Hardin lives, and is being held at our outpost. If you wish to ensure his safety, you will come with us."

A slow, amused smile spread across Sydney's lips. "I had the same intention, to ensure Hardin's safety... and I hardly need you gentlemen to show me the way."

"To ensure his safety," Howell repeated, "you will come with us. _Only_ you. Bear in mind, he is at the Father's mercy."

The momentary shiver of fear and uncertainty never touched Sydney's expression. He couldn't know what had been done to Hardin, regardless of the confirmation that he lived. He also couldn't know how they had prevented him from using the Dark the night before, or whether it might happen again, and when. At the moment, all seemed to be in order in that regard; he could hear Howell's wariness and the uneasiness of those who accompanied him for daring to make such a demand of Sydney, the mutters in the hearts of his own men that such an unreasonable request would not be granted. 

He could hear their shock as well, when he nodded. "Very well then... I suppose I will accept your invitation." Although his men would not contradict him openly in front of the enemy, he heard all of their arguments plainly. "If you will excuse me, while I speak to my brethren..."

Though he himself turned his back on the knights, the others glanced back over their shoulders as they retreated a short distance down the road. Kermiak was walking backwards before him, both facing him directly and keeping a watchful eye on the Blades. "Sydney," he began urgently.

"I know it is a trap," Sydney replied softly before he could finish. "A very, very obvious trap. One designed for someone with my power - and I would not have any of you caught in it. Lest you have forgotten - I had already intended to go alone. We cannot hope to take them by surprise, as they already expect me. If you come along, I'm sure that whatever they had planned for me, they would not send you on your way unharmed."

"Even so, that you should be undefended," Rowan muttered, eyeing the Blades.

"Oh... I'm sure these fine gentlemen will guard me well during our travel," Sydney said dismissively, turning back and raising his voice somewhat, that the Blades might hear his words. "After all, I doubt very much that their commander would appreciate any harm coming to me before we have had a chance to speak to one another. Surely he would have me arrive intact, and in good spirits..." Considering how secretly intimidated they seemed to be at having been given this task, Sydney would have had little fear of these few knights attempting to overcome him regardless.

"And after arrival?" Kermiak muttered quietly, so they could not hear.

"The gods we serve are stronger than their dead saint," Sydney answered just as quietly, half-turning back to him. "They have set a snare, yes - but I walk toward it with eyes open, and divine direction to guide my steps. Besides, they do have Hardin. As I said before, and I will say again, I will not abandon him. I know you would say the same," he acknowledged, "but clearly it will not be so easy as we might have thought. Trust the gods' workings, and trust the Lady's chosen to bring them to bear."

There was little argument his brethren - his followers - could mount against that logic, and they reluctantly conceded. "May they return both of you quickly," Kermiak said with a nod.

"Indeed, and may they go with you. Be cautious upon your return," Sydney advised them. "Though these Blades did not expect us to be on the roads, they might be planning to send another party while they're certain both Hardin and I are away. Prepare the others to defend the cellar route, should it be necessary."

That was a matter that Sydney did not feel he needed to concern himself with overmuch. The Blades had tried to gain entrance before, and the only reason they had made any headway was because the brethren had not been expecting them. Kermiak would do well directing them in his absence. Those who trusted in him were safe... all but Hardin.

He looked back to the knights, standing still up the road and waiting to see what he would do. What he did was give them a knowing smile, perhaps a bit _too_ knowing, and set out towards them once more. "Shall we, good sirs?"

He could not formulate countermeasures to their commander's plan when he knew not what it may be. In the meantime, he would pray as he walked. And perhaps take a bit of delight in frightening his escort.


	3. Chapter 3

It was obvious what Father Raffeyn was doing. Not that he seemed to be attempting subtlety about it, or perhaps it was only that Hardin had known his like before, perfectly polite in their mannerisms while they made no pretense of hiding their animosity. To be fair, Hardin had taken on that same role at times. It was merely a method of negotiation - to keep an adversary off guard, never sure of what might be offered from one moment to the next.

After breakfast, Hardin had been sent back to the cell, to remain there until dinner, which he likewise refused. Again the man tried to coax him to converse, pressing him on subjects related to the powers of the Dark, and Sydney in particular. Again Hardin said little other than to reiterate that he was wasting his time, his men, and presently his breath.

Raffeyn called him on a bit of hypocrisy on that subject, though, when once again Hardin tried muttering the words a simple spell, just to see - and could not cast it. "Was it not you cautioning me not to waste my breath?" Raffeyn asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement. "How many times will you try before you accept that your sorcery is useless here?"

He'd never said it in so many words before. Hardin's frustration and desperation had been present since he'd first set eyes on Raffeyn in that storeroom, pushed beyond the limit by the nature of his captivity, and after so long they had been dulled so that he could feel something else - curiosity. "So that is by your design."

"Indeed it is." He gave Hardin another one of his smug smirks, and returned to eating his dinner.

When he got no further response, Hardin finally gave in. "What is it that you have done, that the Dark does not answer my call?"

"...You know, I almost _would_ like to tell you," Raffeyn said thoughtfully. "I'm quite pleased at how well it has worked. I had never had the chance before to test it against true power - and it has responded beyond my estimations."

_True power?_ Hardin frowned. "Which implies that whatever you're doing, you've tried it before, but in less dire circumstances than against an enemy..."

"Very perceptive," Raffeyn acknowledged with a nod. "Yet as much as I would enjoy discussing such things, _you_ are the one who is to answer _my_ questions."

And that was not to happen. Hardin gave Raffeyn a vague, dark smirk of his own, and leaned back in the chair he'd been forced into - and was jabbed pointedly by the sword of the knight to his left when he moved his arms to cross them over his chest. Perhaps given time, he might tempt Raffeyn into talking about this accomplishment he seemed so proud of - which might let him determine how it could be circumvented.

But it was not to happen that night. Once Raffeyn had finished his dinner, and Hardin's remained untouched before him, it was time for him to be escorted out again. And... down. Again, so much as looking at the stairwell down into the dungeon caused the panic to rise, and he firmly quashed as much of it as possible, walking of his own accord rather than struggling and being forced. He would retain _that_ much dignity.

But then, faced with the sight of the iron bars swung open before him, he abruptly changed his mind. This time, before they could shove him inside, he drove his elbow into the knight at his right side, startling him enough to let him wrest the blade from the knight's grip as he ducked away from the other. It was a start, it gave him some hope. He had escaped another prison in a similar fashion, long ago, he could do it again.

The knight who still had his blade was startled by this turn of events, hesitating enough that Hardin could strike at him, swiftly enough the knight barely had the time and strength to block. It had not been Hardin's intent to kill or even wound, but simply occupy enough of his attention to be able to slip by, towards the stairs.

Raffeyn had already raised his voice, calling for reinforcements, and at the top of the stairs, four more knights appeared, blocking his path.

And of course there were the two below him, only one of whom was armed. Hardin was sure he would have been able to take out one side or the other, had he been able to use his spells. It was worth a try, he thought - if whatever Raffeyn was doing that blocked the Dark required his concentration, perhaps he had startled the man enough to break it. 

He hadn't truly expected it to work, so it slowed him little when it did not. Another thought had already occurred to him, and he kept his back against the wall as he cautiously made his way back down the stairs, one step at a time, his eyes darting between the knights who now advanced from the top, and those who lay in wait at the bottom. It appeared that he was trapped, except that just past the two knights below...

Rather than breaking through towards freedom, when Hardin turned suddenly, it was back towards the dungeon, merely shoving his way past the two knights to Father Raffeyn - who was taken completely off guard when Hardin wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bringing the sword up to his throat as he whirled, placing the man between himself and all of the knights.

And with that, everyone froze, but for the Father's startled gasping for breath. Hardin paused a moment himself, to get his bearings, for his own breath came too fast in this place, and his heart was pounding. "...Well?" he growled at the knights. "You know what to do."

"Y...yes... you do," Raffeyn panted. "If you please..."

Of course he would have been such a coward as to try to save his own life, Hardin thought, in the midst of all the other thoughts racing through his mind. He held Hardin not for some deeper purpose, that they _must_ hold him for the cause of the greater good, but for his own personal agenda, which would go nowhere if Hardin was to kill him.

The knights did in fact know what to do, and slowly they moved aside, letting Hardin pass. Again he kept his back to the wall as he navigated the stairs, keeping his hostage in front of him. "Get back," he told the knights at the top of the stairwell as he approached. "All of you, that way, where I can see you." Fortunately for all of them, they obeyed. "If you follow," Hardin cautioned the knights, "your commander will die - and then I will have both hands free as well. I would not advise it." Particularly if killing Raffeyn might allow him to use the Dark. It was tempting to find out, but at present he had a hostage. That might be just as useful.

He had made it up the stairs, which placed him in a hallway. It seemed that the knights stationed at the hold were largely elsewhere. Aside from those who had appeared at the top of the stairs, now halted where they stood so as to not endanger their commander, there was no one else in sight. That made things simpler, though Hardin was not so naive as to think the entire route to the outside would be likewise uninterrupted. ...If he could find such a route. He had scryed the interior of the hold many times to determine the arrangement of the place and where they kept their stores, yes - but for the most part he had memorized only certain areas, for their intention had never been that he would traverse much of it on foot. This hallway at the rear, with a stairway at one end leading down to a dungeon, was a place he had first entered when he had been escorted there the night before. He knew the way back to Raffeyn's study, having been taken back and forth a few times, but he was not sure how to reach the gate that would let him pass through the outer walls. 

Just as a test, he attempted to scrye further down the hallway, and found that he could not. So it was not a matter of only breaking Raffeyn's concentration... But that was fine. He had not been counting on having the Dark at his command. Given the options he had, he would take the turn down a different hallway, for it led in the right direction.

It seemed that he had chosen correctly when he found himself approaching another junction, and two men rounded the corner to stop abruptly in shock at the sight of Hardin marching their commander along, holding a sword to his throat.

Father Raffeyn whimpered quietly as Hardin's grip tightened. "This does not concern you," Hardin told the two men grimly. "Get back against the wall while we pass." Understanding the situation at once, they did as requested, wide-eyed. "Now be on your way - and in haste," Hardin ordered them, and again they obeyed, taking the rest of the hallway at a quick pace.

The direction from which the two men had come might have been the way out - Hardin had caught a whiff of horse as he moved past, which meant they could have come from the stables. It was as promising a lead as any other he might have had.

Then again, he abruptly realized, he need not _search_ for a way out. "Which way to the gate?" Hardin asked, giving Raffeyn a rough shake, and the man gasped in alarm. "And answer carefully. If you steer me wrong, you will be quite literally risking your own neck, not mine."

Alarmed as he clearly was, Raffeyn had the audacity to chuckle weakly. "...I believe... I would be risking _both_ our necks. If you kill me, my men will have no reason not to cut you down."

"And as you would be dead, you would receive no satisfaction from it, nor would you ever receive answers to your questions." Hardin pressed the blade tighter against him. "Answer mine."

"So you're not... entirely... a fool..." Raffeyn paused. "To the left."

It occurred to Hardin that this would have been an excellent opportunity to ask Raffeyn what he had been doing that prevented him from using the Dark, as he had a great deal of incentive to answer truthfully. It would be useful information to have, to take to Sydney when he returned. But the longer he spent within the walls of the hold, the greater the chance that something might go wrong before he was out of danger. Perhaps he would ask once they had passed through the gate unharmed, before he let Raffeyn go. _If_ he let him go.

The corridor Raffeyn had directed him to ended in a wider alcove, with broad double doors in either direction. Hardin's intuition suggested that the door on the right would be the correct choice, but he might as well ask, particularly as he could hear voices somewhere beyond the doors to the left, and footsteps in the distance to the right. "Where do these doors lead?"

"To the left are the common areas used by our men - barracks, kitchens, and so on," Raffeyn replied. "The corridor to the right joins with a larger hallway leading to the front entryway."

That sounded familiar - Hardin was beginning to get his bearings. "Is there another route that might attract less attention?"

"Other routes, several, yes... Less likely to attract attention...?" Beneath Hardin's arm, Raffeyn's shoulders shrugged fretfully. "It is an appropriate hour for dinner, I expect there are more of our men in the dining hall and surrounding area than towards the front gate."

That too seemed plausible. Hardin crept closer to the door on the right, keeping Raffeyn between himself and the rest of the alcove, and leaned in towards the doorframe, listening. The faint footsteps he had heard before were gone, and he decided to trust Raffeyn's advice. "Open the latch," Hardin ordered him, turning so that the Father faced the door; Hardin had no intention of loosing his grip, nor lowering his sword.

What Raffeyn had _not_ said was that there were a handful of other doors set along the length of the corridor they now looked upon. If Hardin remembered correctly from his surveillance of this area, they were moderately sized meeting halls, now empty of all but dust. Once used for politicking between the representatives of Leá Monde and other major cities, perhaps nobles with nearby holdings, they had likely seen little use during the years after the quake even before the hold had been abandoned entirely. 

Hardin let the doors close behind them and stepped to the side, where he and Raffeyn would not be seen if anyone happened to come through, and paused to consider. ...Despite this portion of the hold currently serving no purpose, the absolute silence - particularly as this corridor joined with a more widely traveled one - seemed unnatural. Even more so when he considered that although he had warned the Blades not to follow, and they had not, there were passages throughout the hold that led around the perimeter, eventually joining with the main corridors that led to the exits. It was entirely possible that they might have gone around another way to head him off, perhaps concealing themselves for an ambush.

It would do no good to ask Raffeyn, of course; the man had been accompanying him all along, and could not have planned such a thing, or likely known any more of the knights' movements than Hardin did. But there could have been contingency plans, or some ranking knight might have formulated his own.

"Well?" Raffeyn inquired impatiently, still breathing too heavy and nervous, his hands grasping harmlessly at Hardin's forearm around his neck. "Surely you must be as eager to be done with this as I."

It was instinctive for Hardin to be cautious, to make certain of what he might be facing. Sure enough... "Then call off your men."

"...My men?"

It was entirely possible he was unaware. "There are perhaps a dozen that have secreted themselves behind two doors ahead, the ones that lie directly across from one another," Hardin informed him. "You will call out to them, and tell them to go before us."

Raffeyn's nervous gasps quieted somewhat all of a sudden, as something occurred to him. "...How would you know?"

If he did not already know of Hardin's talent, Hardin was not inclined to give the man _new_ information about himself. "Trust me, I..."

...He hadn't even thought about it consciously, for after years of using his ability to scrye, it was something he barely noticed he was doing. But he _had_ been able to scrye - though all this time, until just then, the Dark had been silent. He tried again, and again the Dark responded; he could see the knights waiting in the darkened meeting halls, listening, now looking at their ranking officer, silently questioning what they were to do now.

The realization had struck him so that the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind the door from which they had come took him by surprise. He had no time to scrye in that direction before the door swung open wide, nearly striking the two of them - and Raffeyn took advantage of his surprise to drive an elbow into his side with unexpected force, squirming from beneath his arm as his grip momentarily faltered.

Barely a moment later, a small party of knights were between him and Father Raffeyn, each with a weapon at his chest or throat. Further down the hall, those he had seen behind the doors were emerging to lend their aid; a few pausing to look over their commander and make sure he was unharmed, but most to join their fellows in backing Hardin into the corner.

Raffeyn had a hand to his throat, rubbing his collarbone lightly. "...You've just relinquished several of your privileges, boy."

If Hardin did have his magic back - and he seemed to - he could ordinarily have fought back against even so many, particularly when his foes were all lined up before him in a relatively narrow area. But with the points of so many weapons less than a handsbreadth away, and nowhere for him to move, they would be able to strike before he had finished speaking the words.

With a grimace, he dropped the sword he'd taken from the knight below, and raised his hands in surrender. He had no choice but to concede. Again.

"A wise decision," Raffeyn told him. "Turn your face to the wall now... Surely one of you brought rope?"

Someone had, but even as his hands were bound behind his back, Hardin tried again. Yes, he could still scrye - he could watch from beside Father Raffeyn as they tied his hands, he could look upon the storeroom where they had found him, where the Dark had first refused to answer him. The sand of the summoning circle he'd drawn was still present, seemingly untouched. He scryed further and found that outside the hold, it was nearly dark, and the sky was clear. The stars were appearing overhead...

A part of him remained there, even as he let his physical body be marched back down the corridors at the Father's orders. To be free of the close stone walls and smell of the torches - even if only for a short while, to see the stars, hear the breeze rustling through the grass, the sound of evening birdsong from the trees where he had last seen Sydney...

And then he saw Sydney. Only faintly, for he must have been at some distance, but he was walking in the dusk's light, amidst several others he could not make out clearly enough to identify, who appeared as mere shadows near what Hardin truly wished to see. Sydney was wearing the same traveling cloak he had worn when they set out together - his sword belted to his waist at one hip, while against the other rested the small satchel containing provisions and potions that might be useful after or during a skirmish, slung over his shoulder. And Hardin _must_ be seeing true, for after a moment, Sydney raised his head ever so slightly, as if in mild surprise. Just as he often did, it was clear that this time too he sensed Hardin's scrying.

Before Hardin could determine what he felt at the sight of Sydney, whether he might try to somehow communicate his grateful relief that Sydney was well, and that he and the others seemed to be intending his rescue, or perhaps a firm warning that they should not do so - the vision slipped away and he nearly stumbled, as they had come to the stairwell that led back down into the dungeon.

"You need not be gentle with him," Father Raffeyn told his men, and therefore Hardin found himself being nearly thrown into the cell, so hard that without the use of his hands, he could not catch himself. His head met the wall painfully on his way to the floor, and dimly, beyond the aching and disorientation, Hardin heard the Father giving further orders as he tried to roll over to see. "I'm posting four of you at a time now, just in case he tries anything again. And if he escapes his bonds, we will immediately replace them the next time he is removed. If there _is_ a next time."

The sharpness of the pain had faded a bit by the time Raffeyn had turned to approach the cell, turning the key in the lock. He regarded Hardin with a look that held none of the patronizing politeness to which Hardin had been subjected so far. "It is very fortunate for you, John Hardin, that you are worth more alive than dead. For the moment."

It was more than the blow to the head that left Hardin disoriented. The stone, the torchlight, the callous treatment... This was all too familiar, and Hardin closed his eyes, willing it away. Willing himself to wake up, to let the Dark take him outside again, where he might look up at the open sky, the expanse of road and field that stretched as far as he could see, nothing enclosing him...

But the Dark had again left him. He saw nothing but darkness, heard nothing but the sound of his own harsh, hurried breathing. 

Yet, he told himself, he _had_ used the Dark earlier, only moments ago. How? What had made the difference? If it was something Father Raffeyn had been doing, or something done to him, it would have been a particularly unwise time to allow Hardin the ability to scrye, or to cast spells.

At least, it seemed as if it should have been. Hardin was not sure he was thinking rationally at the moment, between the rush of his near-escape and recapture, the throbbing of his head, the fact that he was once again...

He made himself roll over, sit up, shaking his head in stubborn refusal to submit. Perhaps he would feel less panicked if he was not bound. His hands were trembling, and between that and the fact that they had bound him tighter this time, it took longer to work his hands free. Upon doing so, he yanked the ropes away hurriedly.

If he could not scrye, there was no logical reason to think that he could cast, but he could not stop himself from trying, even under the eyes of the knights standing guard, who watched him warily as he grasped the iron bars. Before he could murmur the short incantation, he knew it was not working, for he could not feel the power gathering at his fingertips. Even so, he tried again, more urgently. When the magic continued to elude him, he heard no telltale click from the lock, he couldn't refrain from shaking the bars in his frustration, though it served no purpose but to seemingly amuse one of his guards. 

He was trapped, and he could not do anything. Nothing at all.

Except settle down against the wall of the cell, aching head resting in his hands. And pray, perhaps, if he knew what he might pray for - whether Sydney was on his way, or that he might turn back. This place... 

Even though Hardin was aware that his thoughts were unstable, he knew it was more than _only_ that. Something in this place was terribly wrong.

\-----

Sydney had run out of his own prayers not long after he had set out with Howell and his contingent of Crimson Blades. The gods knew what he would ask before he had spoken; indeed, to consciously ask was but symbolic, a discourse between creator and created in a manner that a mere mortal could understand. It was a privilege, a blessing in itself, to speak to the gods much in the same way one might speak to a friend at their side.

Privilege though it was, there was little point in repeating himself. He had asked for safety for his brethren as they returned to Leá Monde to join with those from whom they had parted, he'd asked for guidance and wisdom for himself to succeed in this task, strength and peace for Hardin... in whatever situation he may be enduring at their hands. Some of his prayers, after considering that, had turned to little more than wordless pining.

But he must remain calm and focused, and to that end, he walked mostly with his head bowed - for he could sense the uneasiness of the knights accompanying him, none of whom thought it wise to attempt to harm him, despite their distaste for him - and silently meditated upon ancient ritual prayers. Kermiak had been correct, this was _certainly_ a trap they meant to spring on him, and his mind must be free of unnecessary concerns, so that he might see clearly.

They were still walking as it grew dark, for Sydney's limbs did not tire, and the Blades had only set out towards Leá Monde in the morning. There had been a brief pause to rest _their_ legs, and to have a bite, which Sydney had opted to ignore. All the reminders he could impose upon them that he was above concerns of the flesh might keep them honest. The less human he seemed to them, the more eldritch creature, the more likely they were to leave any confrontation with him to their commanding officer.

Yet there were parts of him, he had come to concede, that were more human than he thought - more human than he had hoped, though he had since resigned himself to it. Much of that had to do with Hardin - both finding that his humanity still lingered, and having resigned himself to it. Thus, although he had largely managed to settle his heart, there was still a worrying hum in the back of his mind, a very human sort of anxiety, suppressed because he knew perfectly well he could do nothing about it now but continue walking.

It sprung to life, however, when he sensed Hardin scrying him.

Sydney did not let the surprise touch his face, though he lifted his head a touch at the sense of his companion. Faint, somehow muddled, but for some reason he thought that Hardin felt surprise also.

Regardless of why, Sydney knew Hardin's soul well, and at once he tried to reach out, in case they were closer than he'd thought. _Hardin...? Are you unharmed?_

Almost before he had thought the question, Hardin was gone. 

It was some comfort, yes, to know with certainty that Hardin was still alive as they had said, and that whatever had severed their ability to reach out to one another the night before, it had not been permanent. 

It was curious, however, that Hardin had been able to scrye him for that moment, and though Sydney waited and listened, he did not sense Hardin again.


	4. Chapter 4

One rather human trait Sydney had never even attempted to rid himself of was the way he enjoyed taunting and teasing those who caused him trouble.

The knights accompanying him had not thought through the issue of what they were to do upon returning with him, given that it was more than a day's journey, and they would have to stop to sleep. With Sydney, known to be a powerful sorcerer, at their side. It was amusing, truly, the way they stifled their yawns deep into the night, occasionally casting worried glances in his direction.

To be honest, Sydney expected he had more reason to worry than they. These knights were no one of importance, but only mere foot soldiers, pieces to be moved about by a master's hand. Sydney had no reason to harm them, for thousands more like them were scattered throughout Valendia. He, on the other hand, was a unique entity, a threat to the cardinal to whom they were pledged. While they feared him while he was awake and walking beside them, it was possible they might think to do away with him in his sleep. They would get an unpleasant surprise if they tried, but they might think it.

Therefore when one of them finally dared to voice the suggestion that they should stop for the night, Sydney did not object - but best to address the possibility directly, he supposed. As the knights began to settle themselves, Sydney turned aside.

"Where are you going, Losstarot?" Howell asked him, curt, after a brief hesitation, for the others had stopped spreading their blankets and regarded him with uneasy looks.

"You'll forgive me if I do not entirely trust your men to watch over me kindly while I sleep," Sydney replied, crouching a short distance from their cluster of bedding to extend one claw, tracing an arc in the sod.

The knights simply watched as he moved to continue the arc he had begun until Howell finally spoke again. "What is this?"

"My brethren and I are often hunted when we dare travel the roads," Sydney answered him, continuing to etch the circle, a few paces across. Of course, Howell knew of the brethren's troubles full well, and thus Sydney had no need to point it out. "Surely by now we would all have perished, if not for the protection of our gods, and the magic they have granted us. It has long been my habit to cast a spell of warding in the event that one of my trusted companions is not available for the night watch."

At the corner of his eye, Sydney could make out the motion of a few of the knights making the sign of the Rood over their chest. Again Howell hesitated. "I... assure you, that is not necessary."

"We shall find out, shall we not?" Sydney now knelt in the center of the circle he had drawn around himself, marking the points with runes and geometric figures. In truth, he intended to cast only a simple version of the spell, which did not even require a physical circle - but the more complicated and unusual his behavior, the more powerful they would likely believe the spell to be. "As you can see, I am capable of protecting myself; you need concern yourself only with the safety of your men for the night."

Indeed, all of them were now quite concerned for their own safety. Sydney finished his drawings and began the short chant, raising his hands, as well as his voice, just enough that they might hear the strange, ancient words. He allowed himself a satisfied smirk as he heard them speaking in hushed tones behind his turned back, discussing whether they might want to set a double watch. Given that the order they belonged to had murdered so many of his followers, the cardinal's agenda, the fact they now held Hardin to use as bait, it was unsurprising they were wary of what he might wish to do to them - but as destroying them would make no significant difference, Sydney was content to simply make them very, very uncomfortable.

\-----

Although he had prepared so that he might sleep, he was not convinced that he could, and thus the dreams came as a surprise. Not the visions that frequently came to him, but his drowsy petitions to the gods gave way this time to something else - past, present, or future, he could not be sure.

The impression he had was one of vastness and great distance; his spirit haunted the broad, extravagant halls of some grand structure, with a sleek architectural style the like of which Sydney had never seen before. There was a darkness about, though the corridors were brightened by something akin to the enchantments in the underground below Leá Monde, keeping the lamps lit though no fire burned. It was a more spiritual sort of darkness, Sydney thought, not the Dark, for the Dark was natural, but this place felt wholly unnatural. Sterile... empty.

All of this in only a moment's glimpse, for in the manner of dreams and visions, time seemed to come in fits and starts, and space had little more meaning. He saw the halls, then what must have been rooms behind their doors, darker and outfitted with strange, complex devices. What their purpose may have been, and why he was being shown such things, Sydney did not know - but nearby on a large desk, amidst untidy masses of papers, there rested a number of stones. A crystalline structure, he thought, perhaps metallic, and very dark... but no, upon closer investigation they were not entirely dark. Some were darker than others, but each glowed faintly in the half-light, emitting something that was not quite its own light, nor a reflection. Something Sydney _did_ recognize after a split second, in this otherwise entirely foreign place.

The stones glowed with the same aura as the Dark.

This was not an entirely unfamiliar concept; many legends spoke of ancient stones and crystals, holy stones - or cursed stones, depending on who told the tale - that held varying magical powers. Sydney had never seen one himself, and he doubted the veracity of many of the tales featuring such objects, but it had seemed entirely plausible to him, and even approaching probable, that at some point in the world's history such artifacts had existed.

The world's history... That too was a fickle, mutable matter within the visions he was given, and Sydney now looked upon a great deal of it all at once, as related through the stones. Hands that grasped, shadowy figures that offered, the feel of burning and a blast that lit even the midday sky... dusty, resting upon a shelf.

_The ancient ones played with fire._

Sydney could not resist teasing the one who was apparently to be his interpreter. "A mite hypocritical for you to say so, Lady."

She was not with him, for he was nowhere, but he could hear her silent laughter. _Am I not also of the ancient ones?_

"Ahh, a fine parry. Yet these do not look to be your work."

_No - I was content to remain as I was, a servant of the gods. These were the work of men who sought to become as gods themselves - to take the reins of history within their own hands._

"A conceit," Sydney remarked, "and proven so by the lack of their deeds in our histories, it would seem."

_Only in part did they fail. Or do all know the names of the gods...? Do all believe in gods - any gods whatsoever? However,_ she told him, _at this point in time - your point in time - what befell these men is irrelevant, but for what they left behind._

Stones, which could hold the power of the Dark... 

_The gods will be with you throughout - trust in his strength, but be prepared to use yours when the time comes._

"Lady?"

It sounded like an abrupt end to their conversation, when he had just been about to ask another question of her - and then, indeed, he woke at the warning that roused his mind. Immediately he sat and raised a hand, a spell instinctively upon his tongue, for _someone_ had just crossed into the circle he had set.

The someone in question froze, eyes wide in alarm, scarcely daring to breathe at the sight of Sydney awake, the metal claws outstretched towards him. Just the tip of his boot lay within the bounds of the circle, no weapon was in hand, and his heart overflowed only with mortal terror. "I... forgive me..." the young knight murmured frantically. "I only... I wanted to... I was curious..."

Sydney slowly lowered his hand, somewhat. "Now you know."

"I meant no harm, again, I apologize..."

Sydney nodded his acceptance. "Well, Bertrand... I know that you are one of Batistum's lapdogs, rather than a cat - but perhaps you will keep in mind what they say about curiosity. Now go back to your watch."

The knight nodded and turned away hurriedly, though along with the apprehension, Sydney felt his revulsion and anger as well. _It is not my place, even if I had the power... We will return soon, and Father Raffeyn will handle that witch as he deserves._

Or he would try, Sydney supposed wryly, lying back down. Likely Bertrand would not have thought to intrude had Sydney _not_ cast the spell to arouse his interest, but it was well that he had cast it, just in case anyone else might have been curious to see if they might approach him while he slept - and found that they could. Better to have woken for no reason than to not wake when there was cause.

Although now the vision he had been given - considering the Lady had spoken with him about it, it could have been no mere dream - had vanished with his waking, and he still had many questions. It was possible that he might have received no further answers or explanation anyhow, but in case there was more the gods or the Lady would have him know, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him again as he considered what he had seen.

...As well as her parting words. To trust in _his_ strength, not _their_ strength... she could only have meant Hardin, presumably. That should have seemed encouraging, if she was telling him that Hardin was still strong and able enough to take responsibility for some facet of his own liberation. Yet something about the way she had said it made him wary.

\-----

Sydney received no further enlightenment - nor further interruption - before they rose shortly after dawn. This was unfortunate, for whatever meaning it held, he would likely need to do something about it soon. They were not far from the hold, and thus not long from his meeting with the man they called Father Raffeyn, who was almost certainly somehow able to prohibit their use of the Dark, either by preventing its use altogether or by creating some sort of barrier through which it could not pass. In a limited capacity, it would seem, or Sydney's summoned dragon would have fallen, but it had been enough to prevent him from even speaking to Hardin within.

The most logical interpretation of his dream, he supposed, was that either Raffeyn was in possession of such stones and making use of them in such a way as to have that effect, or that whatever Raffeyn was doing could be skirted by the use of the stones - a store of the Dark to have at hand if Sydney could not call upon it naturally.

But seeing as he had never seen such stones, nor did he know how to use them, that interpretation of the vision seemed dubious. The gods would not have tantalized him with a solution he could not utilize. All he could do at present was wait, and keep his eyes open for further hints. And the gods had surely granted him the ability to do so - giving him a partial night's rest, helping him to eat a bit despite the worry that left him so unsettled. In the morning, everything seemed clearer, more in Sydney's control.

As they walked, Sydney further pondered what he might be walking into. Whatever was blocking the Dark within the hold, the Blades had brought it, for he and the brethren had experienced no such oddity the few times they had sheltered there during their journeys. He had been able to send Hardin inside, and speak a few words between their hearts afterwards, before the Dark had failed. Hardin had seemingly managed to scrye him the evening before. This barrier, perhaps a paling akin to those that protected the greatest of the old cities, might have gaps, or it may wax and wane. It might do so at someone's command.

Regardless of the exact details, by the time they had drawn within sight of the hold, Sydney had already decided on a starting point. Though he had not Hardin's talent to scrye from afar, he had gotten by without for years before they had met. Even if he could not see the interior, he could reach out with the Dark and listen to the hints of what it found. 

Or... he should have been. He could tell that there were many knights within, and the overarching mood was satisfaction, perhaps because they had managed to catch such an important figure among their enemies as Sydney's most trusted companion. Which was Hardin's foremost significance to them, after all. Hardin was little more to them than the knights Sydney walked alongside were to him, except that Hardin alone might be enough to draw out their true prey.

As for Hardin himself, Sydney should have been able to sense his presence at such a distance, an island of the Dark amidst untouched souls. But he sensed nothing at all; upon examining it, letting the Dark poke and tease at the compound, it was as if there was a point within where there was no one and nothing - as if part of the hold was simply not there. There were spells that could make a person or place appear as such, draw them to a place between the planes where no earthly viewer could see them or interact with them, but those sensitive to the Dark - which Sydney, as its Keeper, certainly was - would be able to tell that magic was afoot. This was something else entirely.

The church of Iocus had managed to bumble their way into being able to recreate some of the mysteries Müllenkamp had safeguarded for centuries, with any number of deadly consequences - including the present state of Leá Monde - scattered along their misguided path. It could be that either by accident or intentionally, the cardinal and his men might have found a way to redirect the lines of power that ran through the land, diverting the flow of the Dark away...?

Whatever the cause of that... void, Sydney supposed, it did not encompass the entire hold, but only a relatively small portion. Presumably, that small portion was where Hardin was being held. If he could reach it, his own eyes should be enough to guide him within that spot where the Dark was blind, to find Hardin and bring him out.

But then, although he had been invited in, he did not care to find out where they might take him, or for what purpose, should he enter on their terms.

They were still some distance from the outer walls of the hold, barely beyond the reach of archers, when Sydney stopped. "Tell your commander I will meet him here."

The party of knights stopped as well, regarding him with surprise, wariness. "His intention, I believe, was to host your discussions in his study," said Howell.

"And I'm sure his intentions regarding my visit are entirely noble," Sydney said dryly. "I will meet him here, well clear of the walls, if we are to meet."

"I don't believe you're in a position to set the terms," Howell stated, narrowing his eyes in what he probably hoped was an intimidating glare. It was incongruous with the shakiness of his thoughts.

"Oh?" Sydney simply smiled. "Is it you who would force me to your commander's will, if I do not behave? Would you and your men here rise against me, and bring me into submission?" Sydney was not a tall man; the mildest hint of a glamour made him appear somewhat more so, a touch more threatening. "Besides, it is he who wishes to speak with me. I might walk away if I find his terms dissatisfying."

Though there was a reason he would not. "And your man Hardin?" Howell asked.

None of them likely was aware of just how important Hardin was, just what he meant to Sydney, far more than only his second... which meant they were unlikely to call his bluff. "He, like yourselves, is a soldier, and he knows what that means. Yet if anything should happen to him, I would have no reason to speak with Raffeyn at all, would I?"

Howell glanced about at his men. "...Killian, Gerard... Go and tell Father Raffeyn that we have returned with Sydney. And of his request."

"I am glad that you can see reason," Sydney said mildly, as the two knights hastened on their way. "I hope Father Raffeyn is as reasonable."

\-----

It was unclear how much time had passed. An hour? A week? It seemed an eternity, but even if he tried to think upon it, the moments thus spent stretched on. He could not be sure, particularly when he was...

Hardin was drained, exhausted from the lack of sleep and being too tense to do so. He could not be sure if it was hunger or nausea that twisted in his gut, but the lack of food was surely contributing to the state he was in. And then there was the blow to the head, but he could not even recall which side had struck the wall, for his entire head now ached. All of these were things that he could tolerate far better than the fact that he was underground, trapped behind-

And he stopped there. His eyes had been closed for some time, so that he might ignore it. Perhaps he had slept, and did not remember. Perhaps he slept now, and would soon wake, and where would he wake...?

He was aware, dimly, of footsteps, voices.

"As it so happens, I unexpectedly have a better use for it, and sooner than expected."

He could hear the words, but they made little sense. He had no idea what they were referring to.

Though the next words were a bit louder, as if the speaker had turned to him. "...I have the impression he is not likely to cause you trouble. He hardly looks as if he could find the door."

...Raffeyn. Hardin's eyes opened, just a sliver, but what he saw before him was stone.

Only stone, too close. He closed them again.

"...Hmph." Raffeyn gave a haughty sniff, and then the footsteps receded once more.

Hardin drew in a deep breath. Better that he be sleeping. Yes... he would just keep his eyes closed, and he would dream. Like he used to dream - that he was somewhere else, someone else, someone who could go anywhere. Disoriented as he was, he wondered for a moment if he might have dreamed the high priest of some obscure ancient sect, beautiful and powerful and fascinating and infuriating. If he might have dreamed all of it.

In spite of everything, a faint smile reached his lips. If he had dreamed of someone he might love, he surely would never have dreamed Sydney. Sydney was the last thing he would have dreamed.

But even so, he was tired. Sydney was no dream, but he would dream of Sydney anyhow. He would dream of Sydney standing beneath the open sky, the breeze ruffling his hair as he gazed off into the distance with a look of peaceful serenity. Oft enough it was no more than a mask for more serious thoughts, but still a lovely sight to console himself with.

The dream raised his head slightly, with a sudden sharp look as his eyes darted to his right. _...Hardin?_

Hardin's eyes opened again, this time more widely, for he had heard Sydney's voice as clearly as if he _had_ been standing beside him. ...Had that been...

Immediately he tried again, consciously, and even before he had the sight of Sydney, he had Sydney's voice within his heart. _Hardin - can you hear me?_

He still had that serene look upon his face, though his voice spoke urgently. _I can. I can. Sydney..._ Hardin didn't even know what to do or say with this knowledge - mostly he just wanted to keep looking at Sydney. He was so tired...

_Hardin, what has happened? Are you indeed within the hold? I hadn't been able to sense you - until just now, as I felt you watching me._

_Yes, I..._ Hardin took another deep breath, and tried to pull his thoughts together. Pushing himself to sit upright, he rested his head in one hand as it spun and throbbed. _I'm inside. ...Held underground._ He didn't want to even think the details of his situation.

But Sydney knew of his old scars, even if he had not been able to hear more than what Hardin said intentionally, and the tone of his voice softened. _John... I am outside. The commander is coming out to meet me, he just exited the front gate. If I can-_

_Sydney, don't risk yourself for my sake,_ Hardin interrupted him. _Go, and quickly. I don't know what this man has been doing, but almost since I arrived in the storeroom, I-_

_Cannot use the Dark. I know - that is why I couldn't-_

_Don't apologize, Sydney - just_ go _._ Sydney was so much more important than he was - and what if the Dark could not work to bring him back, should they wound him mortally? His fear made him speak harshly. _Don't be a fool, you know they only held me so they could get to you. They already have-_

_Just give me-_

Sydney had broken in with as much fierce defiance as Hardin, but then his voice in Hardin's mind fell silent. Not suddenly, as if a door had been slammed, but as if he were being dragged off into the distance, fading away helplessly. 

Likewise, the sight of Sydney standing in the sunlight went faint, then vanished, leaving Hardin staring once again at the wall of his cell. In helpless frustration, he drove his fist against it, causing the guards at the fore to look at him sharply. He cared not - he had been so close, seeing Sydney, speaking with Sydney... In case the disruption was only temporary, Hardin tried to scrye him again, but nothing happened.

And now he knew that Sydney was near, and he wished he could find that knowledge comforting, that his escape was imminent. But the inquisitors likely were on their way from Valnain by this time - and if Raffeyn did whatever he was doing, to _Sydney_ , and took him, thinking to interrogate him... thinking that he could not die...

In desperation, Hardin tried to scrye Sydney again, only to receive the same result. What had changed in that moment? It was difficult to think clearly, he had to acknowledge, when his mind was once again trapped within his body, which was trapped within a cell. More out of panic than inspiration, he tried something else...

...And that something else worked. Sydney had said he was outside the hold, that Raffeyn had just come out through the gate - and now Hardin stood beside the outer wall of the hold, just beside the gate. Far ahead he could see a number of knights striding away, across the paved lane that led out to the road; presumably Raffeyn was among them, and Sydney beyond, but Hardin was too far away to see clearly.

Well then, he would move closer. His spirit was weary in its own way, but unencumbered by the weakness and disorientation of his body, it could "run" to catch up. Upon doing so, he found that he could only go so far. It was as if he were plunging into a plume of smoke, or had reached the edge of a lantern's light - the Sight began to grow dimmer the further he went from the hold, though he could normally scrye much further from his body than this.

He could reach a point that was close enough, however, to watch the meeting from afar. The Sight was hazy, but clear enough that he could identify Father Raffeyn walking among his knights, and Sydney standing apart amidst a dozen more, a proud, imperious look upon his face as he watched the commander's approach. Which meant that Hardin was watching when...

...Though Hardin might have said that he had presently been living his worst nightmare, that was only half true. Being confined again, in a place so like the small prison cell in which he had been separated from his brother at the time of his death - that was his worst nightmare that involved himself. Yet there was another in which he was personally uninvolved, which his heart oft repeated to him without context after seeing similar events unfold time after time, only to be undone moments later.

And now he was watching one of his worst nightmares unfolding from within the other, from a distance, unable to do more than silently shout Sydney's name, receiving no answer.

\-----

Sydney was frustrated. Frustrated with Hardin for interrupting his explanation, frustrated with himself for letting his attention be disrupted by Hardin's interruption. If he had just thought to _focus_ on Hardin's presence immediately upon sensing his scrying, if he had reached out to find him rather than wasting time conversing, he might have been able to cast the spell that would bring Hardin to him, as he had meant to do during their initial operation. But while Hardin had been trying to sacrifice himself nobly - as if either of them could be said to be noble any longer, in any sense of the word - and Sydney had been arguing with him, the window of opportunity they had been given seemed to have closed. Hardin's presence was no longer nearby, Sydney could not sense it within the hold, and Hardin had stopped responding to his words, presumably because he could no longer hear them.

It would have been terribly convenient if he had been able to spirit Hardin out of his captivity, and then spirit the two of them both away to some manner of cover where he could take stock of Hardin's condition before they moved on. There would have been no need to speak to this Father Raffeyn. Sydney had already guessed he would not like the man, even knowing little about him beyond his association with the Crimson Blades, and then that he had taken Hardin prisoner. What Sydney now knew of his treatment of Hardin, combined with the arrogant smirk the man wore as he approached with another small squadron in tow, caused Sydney to absolutely _loathe_ him.

Yet since he had been unable to bring Hardin to freedom when he had had the brief chance, he would talk to Father Raffeyn. He would offer the same feigned propriety that the commander would likely offer, and both of them would play at negotiations while waiting for a chance to take what they wanted. What Sydney wanted was obvious. What Raffeyn might want was also somewhat obvious, though the exact details were unclear.

Before he had come close enough to converse with Sydney, however, something went suddenly, terribly wrong.

At first, Sydney thought little of the slight tremble in his hands. He was tense, and although his hands were not hands of flesh, they were enchanted elaborately enough that sometimes his mind caused them to react instinctively as if they were. But then when he found himself dropping to one knee, his legs seemingly unable to balance his weight, it was clear that this weakness was not his own. 

Father Raffeyn had halted his men at the sudden movement, peering at Sydney from several paces away with wary concern. But when Sydney tried to push himself up again, and his arm refused to move, he looked up in shock to find a wondering smile upon Raffeyn's face.

"Well now..." Raffeyn mused. "I can't say that I expected _this_ , but neither can I object to yet another pleasant surprise."

Sydney was every bit as surprised, if not more so, though he abruptly realized that perhaps he should not have been. If it had been a paling blocking the movement of the Dark from one side to the other, or a redirection of the Dark around the area, it would have been only a matter of getting within the affected area, freeing Hardin, and escaping it through mundane means. Hardin had said that he couldn't use the Dark, and Sydney had assumed that was because he could not reach more of the Dark than was immediately present where he stood. That there was little there for him to call upon, or perhaps the flow was too weak. 

But he'd been mistaken. It was not that the Dark did not respond - the Dark was _disappearing_ , faster than it could be drawn, until none whatsoever remained.

Moreover, as he could not remember life with any limbs but these, he often did not think much upon them, including what truly moved them at his command. Without the Dark coursing through them, they were no more than hollow metal with the mere semblance of human limbs. 

Father Raffeyn had stepped warily closer, observing as Sydney's shaking arm gave way, causing him to fall forward. "This is no trickery, is it?" he asked, almost absently. "So, both arms _and_ legs... I had no idea. Fascinating..."

Now lying face down upon the ground, Sydney tried to at least turn, but his limbs were unresponsive and heavy, weighing down what natural muscles he still could make use of. All he could do was crane his neck to fire a murderous glare at Raffeyn, who knelt down at his side to examine more closely. Yet he could do nothing to stop the man from reaching out, taking his wrist, shaking it a bit and watching the blades of his fingers dangle harmlessly. "Utterly fascinating," he repeated.

Any threat Sydney could make would be empty. Asking Raffeyn what he had done would do no good, for even if he deigned to answer, Sydney could do nothing about it. He could not remember a time in his life when he had ever been so helpless, and it terrified him. 

Yet he had help elsewhere, he thought, remembering the Lady's words, and the memory calmed his mind somewhat. The gods would be with him. He could trust in Hardin's strength.

It might have been the only way in which he could be of any use to anyone at the moment, and it might be the only path through which he might escape. "...It seems you have been given what you desired, Raffeyn," Sydney told him, as evenly as he could manage. "You have no further need for Hardin - let him go."

"I had thought I might, if it would ensure your cooperation," said Raffeyn, dropping Sydney's hand unceremoniously. "But now I see that you are entirely at my mercy - which is a resource I'm running a bit low on, after your friend caused me some trouble last night. I already have inquisitors on the way from Valnain, and if it is true he can provide nothing useful... You're correct, I would have no further need for him. But when the time comes, I'm not inclined to rid myself of him by releasing him. One less heretic running amok in Valendia - and if what I have heard is true, I would not even have to dispose of the body."

Sydney's eyes widened in rage, but Raffeyn was already standing, gesturing to his knights. "This will be far easier than I thought - all you need do is carry him. Hmmm... I'll have to think upon what to do with him..."

Unable to do more than toss his head, Sydney fell still as two of the Blades took hold of his arms, hoisted them over their shoulders, and he let himself be dragged towards the hold. There was nothing at all he could do but trust that the Lady had been right.


	5. Chapter 5

If Hardin had been physically present, calling out with his voice rather than his heart, he would have been hoarse. Even knowing that he was no more than an observer, without any way to affect anything that was happening before him, Hardin _tried_ to reach Sydney, to find out what had just happened, only to encounter the fading of the vision and be returned to his place in the cell. Though at least now he could scrye at will, and send himself back to the area in the front of the hold, he could not go to Sydney's side, no matter how many times he tried. 

Finally he held himself back, watching from a distance as the Blades brought Sydney through the gate. He could not see them afterwards from his vantage point beyond the walls, and attempting to move closer caused the Sight to falter again. He continued to try, however, testing each step and waiting for the Sight to resolve before trying another. By the time he slowly made his own way inside, Sydney and the Blades who carried him were nowhere in sight. 

...Something was coming together in his mind, though - why he could not scrye this very same location moments ago, but now could. He still couldn't quite make sense of that brief period the night before when he had scryed Sydney, and the knights hidden behind the doors, but a part of his theory seemed sound. However they were blocking the Dark, the effect was not within a fixed area. It was moving, presumably either because the person who was doing it was moving, or it moved at someone's command...

All of a sudden, the Sight was gone from him, and once again he was sitting within the cell. This time, he could not scrye again, whether to find Sydney or to leave the hold.

The explanation as to why was revealed moments later, as he heard footsteps approaching the stairwell - the affected area had moved, presumably - but he forgot all about his theories at the sight of Sydney, limp, his feet dragging upon the floor between the two knights that bore him.

"Sydney!" Finally he could call to him aloud, and he rolled to his feet, rushing to the fore of the cell.

"Stay back!" It was one of the guards who'd given the order; Hardin had nearly impaled himself on the points of two swords that abruptly protruded through the gaps between the bars, forcing him to halt.

There was a chuckle behind them - Raffeyn, of course. "Eager to greet your friend, aren't you? It seems he cares not to talk today, or maybe it's only me he refuses to speak to."

It surely was, but the remark served as a suggestion to Hardin. If Sydney would not dignify Raffeyn's words with a response, then he would follow Sydney's lead. Already they seemed to be of one mind, for where he hung between the knights that carried him, Sydney had lifted his head just slightly as the knights divested him of the weapon and satchel he carried, aiming a glare at Raffeyn that was even more vicious than Hardin's.

Not that Raffeyn was paying either glare any mind. "Though I'd originally thought to keep the two of you apart, lest you plot something, it occurs to me that Losstarot might need someone to assist him till the morrow," he said thoughtfully. "And even if you were to try to plot something - even if you managed somehow to free yourself - I very much doubt you would be able to get far under these conditions, so you might as well enjoy each other's company."

He might have been surprised, given some of the situations the two of them had had to extract themselves from... but considering where they were starting from in this case, Hardin suspected Raffeyn might be correct. Nor were they likely to be making any plans, at least not ones with a chance of success, when there were guards nearby and they could not use the mindspeak.

"Did they not tell you to get back?" Raffeyn added, aiming a glare of his own at Hardin before addressing his knights. "Open the door. Put him on the ground if he thinks to resist."

This was not something Hardin would do. If it was only himself in danger, he might have tried to push his way past even the score of knights that were now amassed outside the cell - but he would not leave Sydney. ...Sydney had not left him, and he presently found that bittersweet. The look he leveled on Raffeyn did not dim, even as he stepped back.

Immediately he had to step forward again, as the knights carrying Sydney tossed him inside; with his arms unresponsive, he would likely have suffered the same injury as Hardin, or worse, had Hardin not managed to catch him, falling to one knee from the sudden movement and the weight he was unprepared for.

While he was down and his arms occupied, the bars slammed shut behind Sydney, and Hardin heard the lock click. "Excellent. This can stay here for now," Raffeyn was telling his knights. "You, and you, stay. The rest of you can come along. Let us see how the rest of the day unfolds..."

Hardin paid it little mind. His arms were around Sydney, and Hardin held him close for a bit longer than necessary, burying his face in Sydney's shoulder. At least he was alive, they were together, and...

"Hardin, put me down."

...And Sydney was still himself, in spite of what they'd done to him. His words were quiet, but sharp, an order rather than a request, and Hardin obeyed. Shifting to try to reach a more amenable position to support Sydney, he managed to turn them within the cramped space, enough to seat Sydney against the wall. His arms and legs fell into an awkward posture, though, and Hardin reached out to take his wrist-

"Don't touch me."

That order was even sharper, and Hardin paused. "I had thought to-"

" _Don't_ , Hardin."

Reluctantly, Hardin nodded. He didn't entirely understand, but there were those fits Sydney had sometimes, where he couldn't stand to be touched even with the most cautious caress. Hardin had paid for being unable to stop himself at times, whether being jolted away by the Dark or cut by Sydney's hands as he lashed out. ...Sydney could harm him neither way at present, he realized, but he would respect Sydney's wishes even so. "I apologize," he murmured, drawing back his hands and instead seating himself against the opposite wall, taking care to keep from touching Sydney even within the small area.

Sydney closed his eyes, leaned his head back with a quiet sigh. "...No, John, _I_ am sorry," he murmured. "It isn't you." His eyes opened again for a moment, flickering towards the door of the cell and the guards beyond, and he lowered his voice further. "...The inability to speak within our hearts here is bothersome. ...And having one's body moved about without permission," he continued in that lower tone, closing his eyes again, "against one's will, as if I were no more than a marionette... it is disconcerting."

Hardin nodded. He could understand that. "Again, I apologize."

"And I maintain it is you who deserves an apology. For... many things." 

"Hey!" A voice from outside broke in, causing them both to glance over at the guards. "What are you whispering about in there?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Hardin growled. "All you need do is stand there like the useless bastard you are."

"Just watch your mouth," the guard snapped back at him. "And don't even _think_ about plotting anything."

Hardin simply gave the guard another glare before turning his attention back to Sydney, who was watching him with barely concealed concern. "Is this how they have been treating you here?"

"Sometimes." Old memories had come rushing back at the guard's words, and his own came out more bitter than he expected. "...It is to be expected. Prison is much the same no matter whose, I imagine."

Again Sydney sighed quietly. "I should never have sent you here."

"Not only did I agree to the plan," Hardin reminded him, "but I had a role in planning it. I cannot remember for certain-" Everything seemed rather hazy at the moment. "-but I think it was my idea."

"I might have talked you into reversing our roles." 

The disgust in Sydney's voice was no doubt only for himself. "Even if it had not been to our advantage to have no need for a circle outside, then it would have been you who was caught," Hardin told him. "And I would have been waiting outside for you with our brethren, waiting and waiting, until the knights fell upon us."

Sydney smiled faintly. "No - you would have trusted in my power, and taken our brethren to safety until either I returned or you found an opportunity." That was fair enough, Hardin supposed. 

"... _Would_ I have been caught?" Sydney continued, opening his eyes again to look at Hardin curiously. "Not to say that I doubt your ability, or I would not have sent you, but I know little of what took place. What befell you that night, that even _you_ were taken?"

Likely Sydney didn't want to think upon his current situation, and if it helped him to have something else to think upon instead, Hardin was glad to provide it. "Everything went exactly as planned at first. I arrived in the storeroom, I drew the circle - with some help from my talent, for it was dark - but then when I tried to summon, nothing happened. I tried to contact you, and again, nothing happened." Hardin paused, trying to remember if there was anything else worthy of mention - it was difficult to think. "I believe that was when Raffeyn entered, with armed knights at his side. I evaded them for as long as I could manage, but there was only one exit, and they stood in my way."

Sydney's gaze grew distant as he considered it. "From your telling," he remarked softly, glancing down at his unresponsive arms, splayed awkwardly across the floor and his lap, "I would have been captured more quickly than you, all things considered."

It was well enough that Sydney could not read Hardin's heart at the moment. He knew how Sydney hated pity, and he considered sympathy only one step removed. It was difficult not to ask, but he bit his tongue.

"As for my part," Sydney added, looking back up to Hardin, "when I had not heard back from you by the end of the count, I tried to contact you. When I could not, I tried to bring you out, but the Dark could not find you. I could not sense you... it was as if you had disappeared." He shook his head lightly. "I did not realize that it was not only you until I returned, after seeing our brethren safely on the way home, and discovered there was an entire area within the hold which the Dark could not reach. Now the current state of my limbs suggests that was not the truth of it... The Dark is not only blocked here, but it has been removed entirely from the surrounding area, either banished or devoured."

Which lined up with what Hardin had realized not long past, while scrying at a distance, and had promptly forgotten about. He rubbed at his head absently. It was still too difficult to think, but with the two of them together, with differing abilities and vantage points, they might be able to put the pieces together.

Before he could say anything about it though, Sydney spoke again. "You're wounded."

The fact it had taken him this long to notice spoke to how out of sorts Sydney was. Hardin's head injury had gone untended since the night before, and by now the throbbing and disorientation had become just another misery among several. Hardin lowered his hand, looking at it absently for the first time, and found a smattering of dried blood. "This? They tossed me in last night much the same as they did to you, with my hands bound behind me."

"And in your case, with no one to catch you." Again Sydney glanced down at his unresponsive arms. Though they could not speak to each other silently, heart to heart, as they normally could, they knew each other well enough that at times there was no need. Hardin knew what Sydney was thinking; he would have healed Hardin if he had use of his magic, if he could use his hands. But aloud, Sydney said only a quiet "Thank you."

Hardin nodded. Likewise Sydney surely also knew without him saying it aloud or in his heart - he could have done nothing else. He dared to ask after all. "Sydney... is there _anything_ I can do for you? Anything that will help?"

Sydney shook his head, lowering it. "...I suppose I would not object to being touched. Perhaps moved to a less awkward position - I may be broken, but I would rather not appear so."

Hardin nodded and moved to kneel before him. "I can imagine."

Carefully, mindful of Sydney's reaction, Hardin lifted Sydney's hands, moving them to his sides, and shifted him to sit up a bit more naturally. Sydney said nothing, keeping his eyes averted, as Hardin finished straightening his legs before him, and then Hardin paused. "How is this?"

"Better, thank you."

Still Sydney kept his head down. Hardin hated seeing him like this, so despondant. ...Sydney had said he wouldn't mind being touched, and likely he could no longer even sense a touch against his metal limbs. Instead, Hardin raised a hand to Sydney's cheek, sliding his fingers beneath the pale curtain of his hair. 

Sydney's chin lifted a bit at the caress, giving Hardin a guarded, almost wary look. "Hardin..." His eyes flickered towards the front of the cell again. "They can see us."

"I am not ashamed." Hardin's finger stroked along the underside of Sydney's jaw, firm and intentional. "Are you?"

As he'd intended, a small smile came to Sydney's lips. "...Me, feel shame?" he murmured, even chuckling softly. "Never."

Hardin smiled as well at Sydney's answer. "I thought not," he agreed, and tilted Sydney's chin a bit higher as he leaned in to kiss him.

They were not alone, however, so Hardin kept it brief, only a moment of reassurance for himself as much as Sydney. His fingers and their gaze lingered, however. "...I confess..." he said quietly - and it was strange to say so, as Sydney's talent meant he need never have _confessed_ to anything. "I would not have you subjected to this - any of it - but having you here... makes this far more tolerable."

"I am glad for that at least." Sydney's eyes were already going distant again, his thoughts going elsewhere. "...The Lady visited me last night."

"Oh...?" Hardin settled down again, this time by Sydney's side, sitting shoulder to shoulder. So close, they could speak in only the barest whisper.

"Before I woke, she told me that I should 'trust in his strength', and I assumed she meant you. ...I wonder if this is what she was referring to."

That... actually made Hardin feel considerably better. Whether Müllenkamp thought him capable, or even if Sydney merely thought she did. "Whatever strength I have is yours, as it has been since we met."

Sydney nodded slightly, leaning his head against Hardin's shoulder. "I will have need of it, if we are to escape this place - ideally before their inquisitors arrive."

"Indeed." That was a thought that sobered Hardin quickly. "We were talking a moment ago about... how exactly they are keeping us from using the Dark." It was still difficult to focus through the dizziness and discomfort, even if Sydney's presence kept the panic that had stalked him at bay. "...Where were we, exactly?"

"Hmm..." Sydney traced his thoughts back. "I was saying that when I returned, I realized it was not that I was unable to find _you_ , but that there was a part of the hold where the Dark could not go. ...Yet somehow this morning, I was able to hear you."

"That's right." Hardin remembered now. "And I... I was watching as they took you, after I could hear you no longer. I could only watch from a distance or the Sight went dim, and if I tried to scrye closer, I lost it entirely. But then I was able to follow them as they brought you inside, following in their path, though I had to stay some distance away."

"So it sounds as if we both agree," Sydney observed. "Whatever they are doing has a particular range."

"And it can move," Hardin added. "It was moving along with you..." Something else came back to him. "And then suddenly I could scrye no longer. Probably because you and those around you came close enough to this place, and I was again within range."

"Yes... and we are still within its range now." Sydney hesitated. "Have you seen any unusual stones in this place? Dark, crystalline..."

Hardin considered. "There were many strange artifacts in Raffeyn's study - he thought to question me there a few times - and I recall there were some stones among them... Nothing unusual enough about them to have taken note of, but that they were stones. Why?"

"The Lady's counsel was not the only subject of my dream last night," Sydney replied. "The gods also gave me of a vision of some manner of stones... I've not had much time or opportunity to determine why, but I can assume they were shown to me for a reason."

They fell silent for a moment, both of them thinking. "...If I could use the Dark," said Sydney, his whisper growing even softer, "I could have entered your memory... I could have looked for such an object myself."

That _was_ unfortunate. "We might get another chance," Hardin suggested. "Raffeyn has been bringing me to dine in his study, trying to coax me to let down my guard."

A quiet laugh from Sydney. "Very ambitious of him."

Hardin smiled faintly, for he supposed that was true. "I don't expect I'll be invited again after last night," he said, the smile fading. "He might think to ask you, though."

"What happened last night?"

It had been a desperate act, and foolish; it was only luck that it had gone anywhere. "...The precursor to the head wound. I had behaved well enough that one of the guards relaxed - I managed to steal his sword, and I took Raffeyn hostage. I was perhaps halfway to the gate with him before they took me by surprise."

Sydney's head lifted from his shoulder to lean back against the wall, uttering a near-silent breath that was nearly a laugh. "Of course," he whispered. "And this is why I did not lose faith when I couldn't find you."

Hardin grinned a bit himself - it _had_ worked out better than he expected, even if it had not been well thought out. Then he remembered. "In the midst of it, I tried to scrye. Not intentionally, but out of habit... and it worked. And at the time, I had the sword to Raffeyn's neck."

Sydney made a quiet, thoughtful sound. "...So whatever is driving away the Dark, likely he does not control it, or it takes a degree of concentration."

"Yet aside from that, it has seemed to take effect where he would have need," Hardin whispered back. "When I was in the storeroom, I could not use the Dark. Neither while in his study, or when he brought me here."

"But last night you were able to scrye," Sydney mused, "and this morning, when Raffeyn came out to greet me, likely bringing it with him - for my limbs began to fail when he came near. It seems to me as though it moves with a singular target... and that target may change." He paused for a moment. "...As it is affecting the both of us here, and the Father is not present, I wonder who might be the current target, and who merely within range."

Immediately Hardin followed his logic. "So you think that if we separated...?"

Sydney nodded, and at the slight shift of his posture, Hardin turned to see Sydney had also turned his head, looking him in the eye with an unexpected gravity. The realization of what Sydney was about to suggest made Hardin's heart sink. "Do not think I intend some selfless sacrifice, Hardin," he whispered. "If it is a choice between the two of us, we both know whom they would rather have unable to call upon the Dark."

"...But..." Leaving Sydney there, helpless, unable to stand or even lift an arm...

"If you have the chance to get away, and you choose to stay by my side, neither of us will be able to use the Dark, and our odds of escape shall be greatly reduced," Sydney stated, and his dark eyes hardened to steel. "And if by some strange twist of fate, I have the chance to leave you on my own, I must also take it, for I will be of no help to either of us if I remain like this."

Almost certainly he thought to hurt Hardin by saying so, perhaps make him feel betrayed enough to do as Sydney said. But his logic was indeed sound, and the latter possibility far more unlikely - and besides, Hardin knew Sydney better than that. "...It is the only way that both of us might reach freedom," he agreed reluctantly. "By one of us leaving the other."

Ever so slightly, Sydney nodded. Having received the agreement he sought, his expression softened. "...Perhaps _that_ is what the Lady meant in last night's dream."

Hardin did not care for the implication. ...Even so, if it was the task he had been given, he would fulfill it. He nodded as well, and leaned his head over against Sydney's, where it rested once more against his shoulder.

\-----

Unfortunately, neither of them was to get another look at the study that day as they had hoped. The Father did not appear again until evening, when Hardin looked up at the sound of footsteps in the stairwell, having nearly dozed off. Raffeyn was not alone - with him were another pair of armed knights, and one more who was not armed or armored, perhaps merely a servant, for he bore only a tray.

"I'm glad to see you've settled in so nicely, Losstarot," Raffeyn remarked, taking in the sight of the two of them sitting together against the wall. "Particularly as I've been a rather rude host - your friend here hasn't been inclined to dine when I have offered him the option, and it slipped my mind that perhaps I should offer something to you."

_Like hell,_ Hardin thought, but Sydney was simply resting his head back against the wall again, eyes raised to the ceiling, expression serene, as if he did not hear Raffeyn's words at all. ...Perhaps he didn't, he might be praying, but Hardin supposed it was more likely he was just ignoring the man. In that case, Hardin would follow his lead.

"There of course is the matter of how you could manage to eat, considering that little predicament regarding your limbs," Raffeyn continued. "Perhaps Hardin can assist you... unless, of course, he tries something impetuous again, and I must remove him to a different cell."

So _that_ was how he thought to ensure Hardin's good behavior when he unlocked the cell. Obnoxious as it was, it was going to work; Hardin remained perfectly still at Sydney's side as Raffeyn opened the lock, and stood back to let his servant enter to set down the tray.

"Very good. I'd say you might earn some of your privileges back if you continue to be on your best behavior," Raffeyn told Hardin as he turned the key in the lock again. "But I'm not certain you'll be here long enough. The inquisitors should arrive sometime tomorrow... Do eat your dinner," he recommended. "You'll want your strength."

Hardin glanced back at Sydney, whose eyes were still on the ceiling, but now looked somewhat tense.

Having completed his business with the two of them, Raffeyn was addressing the guards. "You two are relieved, thank you - which means we will need to make the exchange..."

At that, Sydney's eyes darted towards the front of the cell, and Hardin glanced back as well, curious about what might have aroused Sydney's interest. With the Blades huddled together, the closest with their backs turned, Hardin could see very little.

"All right, come with me, I would have your report over dinner. Did they give you any trouble?" Raffeyn was asking the two guards who had been relieved, as they started up the stairs.

The two newest guards still remained after they had gone, but Hardin turned back to Sydney, who had lowered his head, looking to be in thought. "...What is it?" he asked, speaking in the lowest whisper again, so that they might not be overheard.

"I can't be sure," Sydney whispered back. "...Do you know what they meant about making an exchange?"

"Presumably..." Hardin began, then hesitated. "I had thought he referred to the changing of the guard. Do you think there was some other meaning?"

"You could be right..." Sydney gave Hardin an almost apologetic look before he finished the thought. "You do know more about the workings of such a place than I."

Hardin just gave him the hint of a nod - he could hardly be distressed by the reminder of his past ordeals when he was presently revisiting them. "It _is_ odd phrasing," he agreed.

"As if they might be passing something off to another," Sydney whispered. "Have they ever spoken in such a way before?"

Hardin tried to remember. "...I'm not sure. My memory of... everything, after that first night, has been... inconsistent."

As before, Sydney had no need to read his heart when they knew each other so well. "Hardin you realize - if you apologize for being out of sorts, it will only lead _me_ to apologize again for allowing you to come to such harm."

In spite of himself, Hardin smiled slightly. "Very well."

"I wonder," Sydney continued, "if the target of this disabling effect might be one of the guards. If they were passing it between them. Yet..."

"That would account for my ability to scrye when I broke free," Hardin realized, sparing a dirty look for one of the guards who pounded on the bars at the sudden louder whisper, before turning back to Sydney. "Though I took Raffeyn with me."

"...Yet I heard them speak no spell," Sydney finished. "It could be some enchanted artifact. Perhaps a stone..."

Hardin fell silent as Sydney trailed off into thought. He had nothing to add at the moment - it seemed plausible, Sydney was more learned on such subjects... and also, his head did not appear to be appreciating the effort of thought.

It likely did not help that he'd had nothing to drink all day, Hardin acknowledged, and the tray the servant had left with them had cups and a pitcher. Leaving Sydney to his thoughts, he rose to his knees so that he could reach for them, trying not to disturb Sydney in the process. 

He'd disrupted Sydney's thoughts anyhow, he observed when he sat back with cup in hand, for Sydney was watching him with a frown of vague worry. Sydney had also been without food or drink all day, Hardin realized. "Are you thirsty?"

Sydney's frown deepened for a moment. "I suppose there is little need to worry about poison," he admitted. "They need us alive, and in our right minds..."

"And when Raffeyn took me to his study, he only set a tray between us on the desk, and himself ate what was upon it," Hardin noted, but took only a sip, as now the idea had been put in his mind. He tasted nothing unusual, however, and so he took a longer drink. "I don't think we need to worry about it."

"Nor do I. And in that case..." Sydney hung his head slightly. "Yes, I am thirsty."

Hardin refilled the cup, then turned to offer it to Sydney - and stopped himself just in time, remembering Sydney couldn't accept it. Instead, he moved a bit closer, lifting the cup to Sydney's lips himself, tilting it carefully until Sydney drew back. "And food?" he asked, looking over the tray as he set the cup down again. "They seem not to be making a pretense of hospitality any longer - naught but bread and broth."

Sydney shook his head, listless. "To be quite honest, I feel ill... The Dark has run through me for so long, I wonder if my flesh has become incapable of functioning on its own." He paused at Hardin's worried look, and smiled ironically, dropping his voice lower again. "Or it may be only that I have forgotten what it feels like to be an ordinary man, without that power. ...I suppose it is akin to losing a limb."

Hardin wasn't sure how much of what Sydney said was an attempt at a joke, and how much was bitterness thinly veiled. It spoke, too, to his own concerns, and he settled back beside Sydney so they could speak near-silently. "...Without the Dark," he asked, "are you still immortal?"

"I've been wondering the same," Sydney admitted. "It is the gods' will, yet it is through the Dark that I am restored from death... If the Dark alone is prevented from doing so, I would assume the gods would intervene, for too much would be lost if I were to die without naming a successor." His faith didn't seem to entirely reassure him, however. "I'm sure Cardinal Batistum would gladly provide one."

That was a thoroughly unnerving thought. "But you would not cooperate," Hardin added, though his certainty wavered at the uneasy look on Sydney's face.

"Hardin..." Sydney looked even more hesitant. "There are mysteries you do not know. If it were a choice between passing the authority to an unworthy successor, or leaving the world without a Keeper to hold the Dark in check in any capacity..."

Reluctantly, Hardin nodded. He understood that much. Though that brought another idea to mind, and one he did not care for.

Something must have given it away, for although Sydney could not read his heart, he answered Hardin's question before he could ask. "Naming you would do us little good while we both remain here, even had I been willing to burden you in such a way - and there are ... complicating factors in the transfer of our Lady's legacy. I am not certain I could do so without one of us being able to call upon the Dark."

Again Hardin nodded. "...I had only thought to ask." He didn't want that role, and the thought of taking on such responsibility without Sydney to guide him... to go on without Sydney at all, in fact...

"Though now that I've considered it," Sydney added thoughtfully, "even should the worst come to pass, and they think to force me into making such a decision, they would need to allow the Dark to enter." The thought made him smile slightly, and this time it looked more genuine. "At which point I would no longer be at their mercy, and would have no reason to comply. ...The gods are indeed wise."

"As is their chosen for recognizing it." It was a relief that Sydney potentially had an escape route, should it come to that, though many scenarios still were possible that were less dire, yet very unpleasant.

Hardin was pondering some of them when Sydney spoke up again. "...Regardless of the state of my immortality or lack thereof, _you_ are mortal. If you can eat, you should - much may be required of you before this is finished."

A reasonable assumption, Hardin supposed. And now that his thirst had been eased, he found the thought of food more appealing than he'd thought. "It won't bother you?"

Sydney shook his head, giving him a small smile that was warmer than the last. "Certainly not so much as knowing you remain uncomfortable for my sake. And perhaps my own appetite will be sparked."

Either of those was a good enough reason for Hardin to do as he suggested, and he pulled the tray over before the two of them. By the time he was finished, Sydney indeed had asked for a bit of bread dipped in the broth, and that sustained Hardin as much as the meager dinner.

It was strange how much everything seemed more manageable, in fact, with Sydney there. The dread and panic and disorientation caused by his surroundings and his inability to scrye had retreated somewhat, and was kept at bay by having Sydney to talk to, despite the occasional pounding on the bars as the guards reminded the two of them they were being watched. Even just _looking_ upon Sydney was a reminder that his present circumstances were different, even if it was so reminiscent of the prison which had scarred him in years past. 

After a brief discussion in which they easily agreed that although they knew not the hour, they were tired, and cared very little if the Blades were offended, Hardin helped Sydney to lie down, rearranged his limbs appropriately, and then lay beside him, resting Sydney's head upon his arm. If he kept his eyes closed... it was not the least comfortable arrangement the two of them had ever slept in.

They'd not yet managed to fall asleep when footsteps were heard at the stairs, and Hardin shifted slightly, opening his eyes in preparation to sit up.

He found himself looking into Sydney's. "Don't move," Sydney whispered. "Perhaps they will speak more freely if they believe us to be asleep." That seemed reasonable, particularly as Hardin heard only two sets of footsteps, both wearing the heavy boots the knights tended towards. Raffeyn was not likely accompanying this changing of the guard, and he knew from experience that soldiers might talk together of things they would not voice when their commander was present.

Mindful of their seemingly sleeping captives, they kept their voices hushed even so. "By the Father's order, you're both relieved."

"Good." The two by the door stepped away, going to meet their kin. "Being so close to these cultists makes my skin crawl. Wonder what they were whispering about."

"Eh, it matters not, they're harmless. For now. Remember..."

"Right - Father Raffeyn also reminded us to take it from you before you left. ...We would probably remember quickly if we didn't."

"Good riddance to that as well. I understand the necessity, but it too gives me the shivers. ...Is it just me or has it changed?"

There was a pause. "Maybe. Such things are not my specialty, nor do I wish them to be."

"Exactly. I wonder what the Father is thinking... We Blades cannot be the hand of the Holy Light if we muddy ourselves with the dark arts."

"Perhaps this isn't sorcery. Tales have been told for centuries about holy stones in which lie great power. This might be one of these."

Hardin had been trying without much success to watch the Blades despite his position making it difficult, but his eyes rose again to Sydney's at his slight, sharp inhalation. So there _was_ some manner of stone involved, just as he had seen.

"I would put little faith in children's stories," one of the knights replied, "if not for having seen these witches do what they do. That much seems to be true."

"If the evil in those children's stories is true," another reasoned, "why not the good?"

The first scoffed. "As the disciples of St. Iocus and servants of the Light, we _are_ the good, brother."

"I only follow orders," another spoke up. "I will leave deciding what is good or evil to those better educated on such topics, like the Father. And on the subject of orders..."

"Right. Is there anything we need know?"

"They spent a lot of time whispering, but gave us no trouble. I expect they can't."

"No, they were merely grotesque. ...Just look at that."

Hardin's eyes narrowed in irritation, but he did not move - until he and Sydney both started, as one of the Blades pounded again on the bars. "You! You dare display your perversions in this sanctuary of the Light?"

Entirely acting on his instinct from his first stay in prison, Hardin simply lifted his hand towards them in a very impolite gesture, then dropped it back over Sydney's waist. The slight shake of Sydney in his arms told him Sydney found it amusing, which was quite gratifying.

"I'll ask Father Raffeyn if he wants them separated, but I don't think it matters," another of the knights spoke up. "May God grant you a swift night."

"Indeed..." One of the knights who remained did not sound enthusiastic.

"At least," Sydney whispered to Hardin, "we need no longer feign sleep."

Hardin sighed quietly. "Let us hope they tire of disturbing it soon. I'd had enough of guards who get their pleasure by rattling the bars at me all night, long before this place."

"In the meantime..." Sydney gave Hardin a satisfied smile, in spite of his irritation. "They _are_ using some manner of stone. From their description, the same as I saw in my dream."

True, it was encouraging to think that they were on the right track. Though Hardin still understood very little about the subject. "What do these stones do, exactly?"

"That I was not shown," Sydney admitted. "But given the discussion we just overheard, I wonder if they might somehow be behind this banishing of the Dark."

Hardin nodded; he'd been thinking the same. "They could pass a stone from person to person easily... It would account for why the effects did not follow Raffeyn when I broke free - one of the guards must have held it."

"And why you could scrye when Raffeyn came out to meet me, for he took it from them for his own use." Sydney glanced down towards the bars, at the guards beyond. "...One of those two holds it now."

Already Hardin's mind was working, trying to come up with some sort of plan he might be able to mount. "So we need not separate," he whispered. "We need only put distance between ourselves and-"

Sydney was shaking his head. "How could we do so, when I cannot walk?"

Hardin had almost forgotten, for the two of them were simply lying side by side as they so often did. He nearly said that he would carry Sydney... but considering that first they would need to free themselves somehow, he would need to arm himself, and then find a way to keep the guards from following, with only one hand to swing a sword between the two of them, and without either of their talents or spells... "Perhaps I could create a disturbance and draw them off," he suggested. "Then, when they'd gone far enough, you would have full command of the Dark."

"I'm not certain they'd entertain the idea of following you," Sydney reasoned. "With me held captive, you are of comparatively low value to them - and they consider me more dangerous. I suspect they would remain." Sydney paused. "...But then you would be free, and with the use of the Dark, you might be able to take control of the situation."

"...That was not what I had in mind." Leaving Sydney was one thing. Leaving him while he was defenseless was another.

"Yet it may be all we have, the chance for one of us to escape." Sydney's earlier satisfaction had faded, and again he regarded Hardin with a firm stare. "We have been over this, Hardin. If you see the opportunity, even if we have not had the chance to discuss it... you must take it."

...They had. And Hardin had agreed, if reluctantly. "And you must do the same." Unlikely as it was under the circumstances.

"Of course." 

Even so, Sydney's expression was troubled, and he closed his eyes, turning his face downward against Hardin's arm, as though he could bury himself in it. Hardin's hand at his waist moved up, stroking his hair softly instead.

"John... remember..."

It was rare for Sydney to use his first name, reserved almost entirely for the most intimate moments between them, and always Hardin took notice.

"Do nothing impetuous. Do not take unnecessary risks out of fear for me. You _must_ stay alive... or neither of us will escape this."

That would be a difficult order to follow, and the fact that Sydney was asking it of him made him wary... but he was sworn to Sydney by oath, as well as by something even more binding. He nodded, and pressed his lips against Sydney's hair. He would do his best.

\-----

It was not unusual for Sydney to dream of Leá Monde. The city featured in many of the visions he had been shown, whether of the past or the future - and as he and the brethren cherished even the ruins which stood on its foundations as their own inheritance, it was well-known to him. For Sydney, it held the type of familiarity which would make even an ordinary man see an ordinary place in his ordinary dreams.

This time it seemed as though it may be another vision filled with disaster, though not a prophecy. Leá Monde had already fallen once within Sydney's lifetime, and it was this fall that he watched. He'd not been present - he had been very much occupied elsewhere - but he had felt it, seen glimpses he did not understand given his age. Buildings crumbling as they were made of sand, the sea rushing in to claim them... and strange, unfamiliar faces watching over the city and himself as both were torn asunder. Though the city was so much larger than he and filled with chaos, they remained at his side despite their sorrow, granting him peace. It was a memory he only barely could recall, and only in part, but he remembered that.

But this time, he found himself fully grown as he lay upon the altar, with limbs composed of metal and magic, and he looked up from them...

Hardin woke briefly while Sydney was still lying awake, holding the fragile images carefully within his mind, lest they break or fade away. Upon seeing him awake, Hardin's drowsy expression turned puzzled. "What is it? Have you reasoned something out?"

It was probably the smile on Sydney's face that prompted the question. "You could say that," Sydney replied. "Or rather, I was reminded of something." The Dark, after all, was not what provided his visions.

"Oh?"

Likely Hardin was expecting some sort of plan to let them escape, but no. "The Dark may be driven away," Sydney murmured, "but there is nothing man has wrought that could separate us from the gods and their love. ...The gods are with us, even here - and they _will_ be with us."

Hardin only looked more puzzled. His theology was somewhat simpler than Sydney's; Sydney had taught him that the gods were everywhere, and he had seen evidence of that after he'd made the choice to trust. In that, he might have been the wiser between them. "...That is good," was all he said.

Sydney's smile grew slightly amused. "Go back to sleep, Hardin. We will be fine." Hardin nodded, and his eyes closed again.

It was fortunate that Hardin's faith was uncomplicated enough that he did not question, for given the implications of the vision Sydney had seen, he did not dare explain. It was not a vision to be preached to his followers or to unbelievers, but one meant for his heart alone - and his heart was now at peace, regardless of what the next day was likely to bring.


	6. Chapter 6

They were wakened again for no apparent reason besides cruelty, at the arrival of the next shift for the guard. Unlike the previous night, there was no talk for them to overhear about the stone that had been mentioned, or what they might be doing with it - only a brief mention of passing "this" on to the new arrivals, who had little to say about it.

Hardin at the least had not managed to fall asleep again by the time he heard more footsteps, though Sydney seemed to be sleeping quite peacefully in his arms despite their surroundings. Quieter footsteps than the knights, and he tried to shift as much as he could without disturbing Sydney, to turn his head to see who approached.

Father Raffeyn, on the other hand, cared not if he disturbed either of their slumber. "I take it you've slept well?"

"Yes," Hardin replied defiantly, as Sydney stirred at the sound of voices - only muffling a yawn against Hardin's arm, rather than appearing startled. "Quite."

"Your manners are vastly improved with your friend here," Raffeyn observed. "It appears you've even eaten your dinner for a change. Excellent - for I've brought your breakfast." Indeed, at his side was another servant carrying a tray. "If you behave, the two of you may even dine together. If not, you will dine apart... and of course that means that Sydney will not dine at all."

Hardin glanced back at Sydney, his head still lying upon his arm, but Sydney signalled nothing, having turned his head to look towards Raffeyn. And of course, Hardin knew that there was no gain in separating now if he was only to be moved to an adjacent cell, still within the reach of whatever the stone was doing. "Do not mistake my compliance for submission," he growled.

Raffeyn smirked as he began to unlock the door. "Oh, never."

Hardin started to sit up, and after receiving a nod from Sydney in answer to his questioning look, helped Sydney to do so as well, while the servant entered to replace the previous night's meal tray with another. "A pity," said Raffeyn, as he swung the bars closed again, "that this cooperative behavior is unlikely to last much longer."

Though Sydney had been largely ignoring Raffeyn's words, his expression untroubled and unchanging, his eyes did narrow in concern for a moment, and Hardin looked back at the Father sharply. He was being baited, of course, and he knew that, so he would not ask.

As he had thought, Raffeyn wanted to tell them anyway. "I received a messenger from Valnain, sent ahead of the envoy I had requested. Only two inquisitors is a bit less than the high priest of Müllenkamp deserves, I would think - but I did not know I would have such a distinguished guest for them to question when I sent word to the cardinal. Even so, they should do well enough when they arrive later today. I see no reason we should not begin our conversation at once."

That was not good news. But Sydney remained calm, silent, and so Hardin held himself to only a disdainful look.

"...And as you apparently have no interest in conversing now, I will take my leave," Raffeyn told them. "Enjoy your meal - dinner may be... just a bit late tonight. I expect at least two of us will be otherwise occupied for much of the evening."

When he had gone, Hardin looked back to where he had been settling Sydney as comfortably as possible against the wall, allowing his concern to show. "...Sydney..."

By contrast, Sydney remained as calm as before. "What did they bring us this morning?"

"You're asking about breakfast," Hardin began incredulously, "when he just said-"

"I assume we have more water?"

Hardin almost snapped at him - did he not realize what would happen when the inquisitors arrived? - but held his tongue. "...Would you like some?"

"Just a bit, thank you."

They _would_ speak of this, Hardin told himself, but for some reason not now. Perhaps it was only that Sydney's throat was dry upon waking, and he reached for the pitcher and cup. And then, the guards were performing their duty silently at the moment, but surely they were listening. Perhaps Sydney had something he might say about it when their attention had not so recently been drawn to their prisoners.

When Sydney had drunk, Hardin finished off what was left in the cup, and by then he had managed to calm himself somewhat. "Some manner of porridge," he told Sydney, looking over the rest of the tray as he set the cup down again, and instead he picked up a spoon to examine their breakfast further. "...Unsurprisingly, lacking for any seasoning."

"Regardless, you should eat," Sydney told him. "At present, your strength serves as mine also."

As the Lady had told him in the dream... which reminded Hardin that Sydney had seemingly had another vision the night before. But if they were not to talk about substantive matters now, those questions also must wait. Instead, he slid the tray nearer to where he sat, against the opposite wall from where he had settled Sydney. "And you? Have you any appetite?"

Sydney shook his head, but smiled absently. "I will have a bit anyway. Though I must depend on your strength now, I cannot let my own lapse. It will be needed." Hardin nodded, and moved to kneel a bit closer.

Once Sydney had had what he wished, Hardin sat back to finish the meager meal, and Sydney fell once again into silent, distant thought. Or perhaps prayer, Hardin thought. For someone such as Sydney, constantly listening for the direction of the gods, there might be little difference. Hardin was not so well-disciplined, less inclined to meditation than conscious planning and action - and so he ate, and he considered.

Little inspiration had come to him by the time the bowl was empty, but perhaps Sydney had had better luck. After having put the meal tray aside, Hardin looked back to see that Sydney's eyes were no longer so distant, but watching him - in a way that would have been unnerving, had it not been Sydney, whose gaze so often held such intensity. Since it was Sydney, it might mean only that he was ready to talk.

Instead of settling across from him, Hardin sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder so that they could speak quietly again. "Has anything come to you?"

"Very little," Sydney admitted, "but that you are a blessing."

The words made some of Hardin's tension ease. He knew it must be nigh unbearable for Sydney, to be so helpless, to be fed like a small child. He also knew, as he knew Sydney well, that Sydney would not want it acknowledged any more than was necessary. As an answer he merely leaned in, the curve of Sydney's jaw resting in the palm of his hand as it tilted upwards, that he might meet Hardin's lips.

They had only a moment of peace before there was another round of pounding on the bars. "Enough of your obscenity, cultists! You're in the presence of the Light!"

"Their presence here is obscenity enough," the other guard muttered.

Hardin offered another rude gesture without so much as looking back, and dropped the other arm around Sydney's shoulders as he settled back. "...Perhaps we might get our chance at escape if we partake in such obscenity that they have no choice but to intervene," he muttered.

Sydney breathed a quiet, stifled laugh. "One other thing that did come to me," he remarked. "It was strange that Father Raffeyn seemed not to be bothered at all at finding the two of us lying together, though the Blades tend to find relations of our kind offensive."

That was a subtlety Hardin had overlooked, but thinking back, Sydney seemed to be correct. "Likewise, he showed no particular disdain the night I was taken. He had availed himself of the church's information on us, and believed you would surely return for your consort. He did not seem to be taunting me with his knowledge, but was only pleased to have made such a capture."

"He is a foreigner," Sydney noted. "It may be that in his homeland, such behavior between men is not considered unseemly. Yet it suggests that his beliefs and values are not quite aligned with those the church of St. Iocus profess."

"He also told me he was more a man of science than faith," Hardin remembered, and frowned thoughtfully. "You're correct, it _is_ strange."

"How did a man from another land, who seems not to follow the teachings of St. Iocus, gain such high rank in the church as to become the overseer of a strategically significant outpost?" Sydney pondered, echoing Hardin's thoughts. "...It would be an intriguing mystery to solve, did we not have more pressing concerns."

Hardin agreed. "The inquisitors, for instance... Have you any ideas?"

"Nothing specific," replied Sydney, almost nonchalant. "What I do have is faith, and a bit of knowledge. Raffeyn told me, as the knights prepared to bring me inside, that if they had me, you would almost certainly not be needed. His words this morning suggested the same - they intend to interrogate me first, and see if they can force the answers they seek."

Any of Hardin's tension that had been eased earlier returned at Sydney's words. "...Yet you seem unconcerned."

Sydney smiled. "That is where the faith comes in."

Hardin didn't find it so easy as that - though now he remembered waking to Sydney smiling in the same calm way. "You saw something this past night... what did you see?"

"I told you then what I was shown: the gods are with us. We will endure. I still do not know how," Sydney acknowledged, "but we will endure. Presumably our fate rests initially with you - and I believe that you will know what you must do when the opportunity presents itself." Sydney gave him another smile, this one warmer, kinder. "I know you have less faith in yourself than the gods, and that even that falters, but _I_ have faith in you - and I am no fool, am I?"

"Sometimes I wonder," Hardin muttered wryly. "Forgive me if I would prefer something more substantial."

"As would I," Sydney admitted. "But all we can do is use what we have been given, and do what we must. I have been given faith, and at present it is all I have to work with. You have more that you may make use of - so you have no need to concern yourself with faith. Let that be upon me, while you remain focused on the tangible, the possible."

It seemed as if rather a lot weighed on Hardin suddenly, beyond knowing what Sydney faced. But he could do nothing about it, and surely if Sydney could have done something about it, he would have. Resting his head in his hand, he sighed. "I will do my best."

"You always have, and it has always been enough."

Huddling in a cramped cell, feeding someone by hand when they could not feed themselves... These things had brought back memories. "...Not always."

Hardin half expected Sydney's light, cautious touch, resting his hand upon shoulder or knee, as it often did when he found himself returning to those failings in his past. But that reassurance could not come, and it would not come, and the two of them fell silently into their own thoughts.

\-----

The hours passed slowly and without measure, with little to say or do that the two of them _could_ say or do with two of the Blades standing guard so close. The anxiety that Sydney's presence had banished was creeping back into Hardin's consciousness, the sense of panic that tempted him to do something rash - anything that might allow him to get free, and find some way to free Sydney as well. If Sydney had been able to use his talent, he would have spoken, to calm Hardin with his words and reason with him, but he could not know what was kindling within Hardin's heart. Hardin tried to channel it into something more productive, and spent his time considering what he might do if and when they did come for Sydney - and what he might do if they did take him away for the inquisitors.

Sydney himself gave little indication of his own thoughts, but they appeared to be untroubling, even to Hardin's eye - and Hardin had no such talent as Sydney. It was only that he knew Sydney so well that he had learned to tell when Sydney's serenity was genuine, and when it was a facade. ...Usually. But this time it appeared to be genuine - there was none of the telltale tension around his eyes, when they were open. At times they were closed, and Hardin remained still at his side, his arm around Sydney's shoulders, not wanting to disturb him if he should be resting.

But it was as Hardin had feared; later in the day, they were disturbed for far more ominous reasons. He heard the footsteps nearing the stairwell as usual, perhaps the changing of the guard. He _hoped_ the changing of the guard... though soon enough he recognized that there were more than two knights approaching. Immediately he tensed, ready to act as soon as he knew what he faced. 

Beneath his arm, Sydney lifted his head - and although he couldn't have read Hardin's heart, he must have known what Hardin was thinking, for he mouthed a few simple words as Hardin exchanged glances with him, as the newcomers descended the stairs. "You must stay alive." 

As if there had been any doubt, five knights accompanied by Father Raffeyn made it clear, and Hardin's arm tightened around Sydney unconsciously before the Father said so much as a word. "Ah, Losstarot... I have guests upstairs who are eager to meet you. They've waited a long time for this honor, and I have no intention of making them wait any longer."

Sydney said nothing, but met his eyes evenly. Hardin was before him in the cell, his body between Sydney's and the bars, and he'd been placing himself so for exactly this reason. That would not change unless he was forced, or unless Sydney asked. ...And even then, he was not sure he could obey.

"Nothing to say now, hmm? We'll see how long that lasts." Raffeyn looked to the knights at his side. "Once I've unlocked the door, be ready - Losstarot may not be able to put up much of a fight, but I've no doubt Hardin is willing."

_Damn right,_ Hardin thought, bracing himself. But then, finally, Sydney spoke. "No."

Hardin's heart sank. He had expected this, somewhat, but...

Raffeyn's hands had stilled at the lock, his eyebrow raised. "No?"

"No. Hardin will stand down, at my request," Sydney stated. "I will go willingly."

"Sydney!" Hardin had intended to protest, but it came out more as a plea.

Raffeyn still looked skeptical. "Oh, really...?"

"You are sworn to me, Hardin," Sydney reminded him. "You must do as I tell you - and I am telling you now to stand down."

"Sydney..." As much as Hardin had expected Sydney might do something of the sort, when faced with it in reality, the idea that he could simply back away, _allow_ them to take Sydney away to be tortured...

"Fear not for my sake." Sydney's expression softened just a little at the look on his face. "Remember, the gods are with me."

This... had to be part of some plan, Hardin told himself. Yes, once they were separated, one of them should be able to use the Dark again, just as they had intended. But that one person would almost certainly be him, and Sydney would be left helpless as he was subjected to...

"Stand down," Sydney repeated.

Slowly, painfully, Hardin removed his arm from around Sydney's shoulders, rose to his knees, turned to sit at the back of the cell. All the while, Sydney met his gaze steadily. "Good. Thank you, Hardin."

Finally Raffeyn seemed to decide this was not some manner of trick, and finished unlocking the door. "You and you," he said, pointing to two of the knights behind him without truly looking. "Go in and get him. And Hardin, I recommend doing as you were told," he added, raising his eyes to address him. "If you think to overcome these two fellows and break free, there are five more waiting for you to emerge."

Indeed, unarmed and without the Dark, he did not have the slightest chance. Hardin's eyes narrowed furiously... then turned back to Sydney, whose steady gaze still lingered, even as the knights took up his unresponsive body, preparing to carry him out. 

"And of course, I'll be needing _that_ back," Raffeyn was saying to one of the knights outside. Hardin's interest was suddenly piqued - Sydney had been right about that, at least. But his hopes were somewhat dashed by Raffeyn's next words. "I'll leave the rest of our men here, in case Hardin gets unruly while we're gone."

So he would be once again locked inside a cell, unarmed, with five armed knights standing guard. Even if he did regain his use of the Dark, the odds of freeing himself - and not destroying himself as well as the knights by using magic in close quarters - were not favorable. He set his jaw; he would have to find a way, for if he could _not_ free himself-

"Wait." Sydney's voice, soft but authoritative, and both Raffeyn and Hardin halted to look at where Sydney was now held upright, supported by one of the knights on either side. "You seem to be a reasonable man, Father Raffeyn, and I am not so innocent as to have any illusions about what is to happen. Would you permit a man to say a proper farewell to his lover?"

The request startled Hardin; Sydney had seldom used such a word, and for him to use it now was no doubt a deliberate choice.

Again, rather than displaying any distaste, Raffeyn only smirked, a vague look of amusement upon his face. "Depending on what you had in mind... perhaps."

"Just one last kiss before we part - I would not think that so much to ask."

"I suppose not..." Raffeyn sighed, and gestured at his men, who had been on their way out of the cell with Sydney. "Go on, let them have their moment."

Hardin was backed against the far wall as Sydney had ordered, and a second time Hardin caught him as the knights essentially shoved him in Hardin's direction. This time he was more prepared, and did not stumble, but only held Sydney close. "...Sydney?" he murmured into Sydney's ear, for this seemed unusual - there must be more to this than met the eye. Perhaps Sydney meant for him to take the knights off guard, while they were likely averting their eyes... "What would you have me do?"

In response, Sydney lifted his head to kiss him, lingering for a moment. Then against his mouth, so quietly that Hardin could hardly hear, Sydney merely repeated his earlier directive. "Stay alive."

It _was_ their only chance. Hardin closed his eyes and nodded, holding Sydney against him.

"All right, I suppose that's enough," Raffeyn spoke up again after a moment. "Bring him out."

Hardin could do nothing but relinquish Sydney into the arms of the knights. Sydney continued to meet his eyes steadily as he watched them drag him away - and Sydney even gave him a small, confident smile, as if to tell him all was well.

Hardin most certainly did not agree.

\-----

Even Sydney was not quite sure how he was remaining so calm. If pressed, he might have named several reasons. He had experienced the pain of death multiple times, as well as the pain of recovery from death - if he had withstood that, he could withstand this. Similarly, he understood that his mind could not comprehend what was about to take place, and shied away from trying. And, of course, he had been given the assurance that the gods would be with him, just as they had been when he was a child. His memories of the ritual were faint and uncertain, but they did not fill him with fear, and he remembered no pain. All he remembered was that his father had been there, and his mother, and the Lady, and the gods, and he had known they all loved him very much, and he was safe...

But he was now grown, conscious of his surroundings and the danger he was in, and any pain inflicted upon him was to be intentional, for the sole purpose of inflicting pain. Knowing that, it seemed very strange that he should not be afraid.

He was, however, curious as to where they were taking him. The cell he and Hardin had been kept in was a bit too small for such practices, yes, but as the hold had a dungeon, it would have seemed an appropriate place to be tortured. Perhaps all the more so, for they could have inflicted further torture on Hardin by causing him to watch. Given what Raffeyn had done to Hardin thus far, it seemed something he might have enjoyed.

The two knights who carried him, one arm slung over the shoulders of each, were hauling him backwards, so Sydney could only see where they had been, rather than where they were going. He would not give them the pleasure of seeing him crane his neck to try to look ahead, as if he could be bothered about where they might be going. It mattered little, for wherever they were taking him, he knew what was waiting.

Their eventual destination turned out to be a large room, dimly lit by a fire somewhere on the far side. An old meeting hall of some sort, Sydney thought, from the looks of the walls and the galleries upon either side of the door. The wood paneling was dusty, and what he could see of the room as they carried him deeper within seemed empty, as if the hall had not seen use for some time.

"Brother Kanel, Brother Bartimus, our esteemed guest has arrived!" Father Raffeyn's voice echoed in the large chamber as he addressed someone, presumably somewhere ahead. "Have you finished the preparations?"

"Yes, and with thanks to you and your men for beginning the tasks we asked of you before our arrival," came a reply. "We can begin as soon as he is prepared."

"So... this is he. The infamous Sydney Losstarot," came another voice. "What has happened to him, that you should bring him to us like this?"

"It was an accident, to be honest," Raffeyn replied. "I had brought a little safeguard against his sorcery with me... I was not aware his limbs were also dependant upon the Dark. I can hardly complain, as it made my job much easier."

"It does limit what we have to work with as we do ours," one of the voices noted, now only a few paces away as the knights halted. "But we have many techniques at our disposal."

"I recommend," said the other, "that we restrain him anyhow. Just in case of some mishap."

"There will be no mishap, as long as I am present," Raffeyn said dismissively. "But by all means, if it makes you feel more comfortable."

"He _is_ Sydney Losstarot," the voice replied. "So yes, it would."

Sydney found himself being lifted onto a table, laid out on his back; the dream he had dreamed the night before returned to him easily, and he closed his eyes. _May it be as You have said..._

No longer able to even sense the movements of his limbs, he heard more than felt them being arranged, the metal clicking upon the stone tabletop as they were stretched to the corners, the rattle of chains... He almost laughed at the irony.

"And these will do?" Raffeyn inquired. "We had none of your usual equipment on hand."

"It is not quite the same, but this is not the first time we have had to improvise a bit. The first time under such important circumstances, granted. Yes, that should do nicely." 

Sydney opened his eyes again, glancing upwards along his arm. Shackles at the wrist, as he had expected. Presumably at the ankles as well.

"Ah, so you _do_ have some interest in joining us," Raffeyn observed, stepping closer at Sydney's left. "What do you think? There was nowhere in this old structure particularly appropriate for this evening's conversation, but we haven't been using this room - and it conveniently had both a large table with a stone top and a nearby hearth."

Sydney simply gazed straight ahead. "The vaulted ceiling seems exquisite." If Raffeyn wanted to engage in such absurdities beforehand, then Sydney would respond in kind. Between his upbringing and his life since leaving home, he was very well-versed in false pleasantries - and whatever time he wasted was time that Hardin might have to find a way out.

"I'm glad you approve. You'll likely be looking at it for some time. Unless you're less uncooperative than I expect..."

Sydney shook his head lightly. "I intend to live up to, and very probably exceed your expectations."

"We'll see... Brothers Kanel and Bartimus are two of the cardinal's best," Raffeyn informed him, "and they set out thinking they were to interrogate only your friend. I sent another missive yesterday, and a few of their friends should be joining us within a few days, just in case they alone cannot draw out the answers we seek. It should be an interesting exercise, determining how far they can go with one who cannot die."

"You seem to have been misinformed," Sydney observed, "if you have been told I cannot die."

Which was undoubtedly a question they had thought to ask. "Oh...?"

Sydney could not quite suppress his smirk. "I have in fact died many times, in many ways."

"Perhaps we'll stumble upon a few you haven't experienced yet."

Sydney hoped not. He had no doubt that the gods were with him, that they would not abandon him to this. There was much work that they had set out for him that was not yet complete... his story was not to end here. Yet... he was not entirely sure what might happen if he _should_ die at their hands.

"Now..." Raffeyn mused, "where should we begin? Kanel, Bartimus, you're the experts - I'll leave that to you."

"Very well." At Sydney's other side, he heard one of them approaching. "Let us start with something simple... Introductions, for instance."


	7. Chapter 7

Shaken as Hardin had been by what had just happened, he understood. As much as he would have cursed himself for obeying Sydney's command - or perhaps Sydney for giving him such a command - there was a task he had been given, and he would fulfill it. He let himself pace back and forth along the length of the cell anyway, utter a frustrated obscenity. It would be useful for his captors to think him as rattled and helpless as he felt he was.

True, Sydney's final instruction had been only to stay alive, and that would have seemed simple enough if he stayed where he was, made no trouble whatsoever. That would do neither of them any good; his second priority, after staying alive, was to find a way out.

That assumed that they had been correct about what was keeping them both from using the Dark, so Hardin decided that was where to start. After enough time had passed that he thought Raffeyn might be far enough away, Hardin muttered the words of a simple defensive spell under his breath.

The Dark did not respond.

Again he cursed. Had they gone through all of this, had he let Sydney go with them, only to find that they'd been wrong?

Hardin ceased his pacing, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes for a moment to try to collect himself. With Sydney gone, and the specifics of his being gone adding further tension, the ache in his head had returned, and the walls were beginning to close in on him again.

But he could not allow himself to be overcome. Taking a deep breath, he tried the spell again, in case he had not waited long enough. Again it did not work. Yet this time he thought he sensed something. The power was there, but... weakened? Or was it that he was unable to draw enough of it to himself?

The use of the Dark to cast spells and the use of the Dark when it came to one's innate talents were different, he recalled; the latter worked _through_ the Dark rather than calling the Dark into oneself. Even if he could not cast...

The sense of being suffocated within close stone walls was suddenly alleviated as he stood before the hold, beneath the last faint colors of a fading sunset. Though his body still was below, and the air he breathed in smelled of dust and smoke, it was still a relief to see the sky above, the wide road stretching out in either direction.

He let himself linger only a few moments. He _could_ touch the Dark again, although the results of that banishing effect may be lingering, diminishing his ability to work a spell. Trying a third time, Hardin definitely felt the Dark gathering about him. Whatever had been done, he seemed to be recovering quickly. And if he still could not cast, but he could scrye, there was something else he might do in the meantime.

Still leaning upon the back wall of the cell, seemingly in despair to any who might look upon him, he closed his eyes again. As expected, he could not scrye Sydney, but he could scrye the corridor at the top of the stairs, where they had taken Sydney. From there, he could search, and quickly.

Though he had no idea where they might have removed Sydney to for their inquisition, his previous surveillance and his brief excursion a few nights past gave him some idea of where _not_ to bother looking. It was unlikely they would have used the Blades' common areas or their storerooms, save perhaps for the armory. Instead, his spirit methodically crossed back and forth through other areas of the hold, lesser used and previously of little interest to him.

It was in a hallway akin to the one in which the Blades had ambushed him, where he paused before a door, hearing voices within, echoing and indistinct. He knew he had found the right place when trying to scrye within it caused him to be sent back to the cell, and so he tried again. This time his spirit simply stepped through the door so that he could see past it.

There they were, at the far end of the room. There was no light aside from a roaring fire, burning so high as to nearly be dangerous even within such a large hearth, and as before, Hardin needed to scrye from a distance. He could make out the shape of someone in long robes bending down beside the fire, another in similar dress beside a large table... with Sydney's unmistakable form splayed upon it, his wrists and ankles chained. 

Hardin's attempt at assessing the situation failed there, at the sight of Sydney lying before them. He started to move forward by instinct, but his reason had not left him, and he recalled immediately that he would need to move slowly, to see how close he might be able to get before the Dark failed.

Even from a distance, he could hear what was being said now, for the voices carried well in the empty, largely unfurnished chamber. They seemed to only be starting, for Sydney appeared unharmed, and the question being asked of him was simple. "First, your name."

A pause, then Sydney replied. "I believe you already know my name."

"Not Sydney Losstarot - your _true_ name."

An odd question. From where he scryed, Hardin could not see Sydney's face, but his reply was instantaneous and casual. "Is not a man's 'true name' the one he is best known by?"

"You enjoy playing games, don't you?" Father Raffeyn's voice, and Hardin spotted him pacing around the end of the table at Sydney's head. He'd missed seeing the Father before, as finding Sydney had largely driven thoughts of anyone else from his mind for the moment. "Perhaps you do not fully recognize what awaits if you do not answer - more than a mere switching for your disobedient folly, for you are no child."

"I do. I have given you the only answer I may give."

"Unlikely," said Raffeyn. "I looked into you and those close to you when I attained this position. There are none in this land who have used the surname of Losstarot for centuries, and no child born to anyone of note named Sydney who is not presently accounted for in the records. Therefore, the conclusion is that you have another name."

In spite of his concern for Sydney, Hardin found himself somewhat stunned. ...It was not entirely a surprise that Sydney may have chosen to take a pseudonym, and it didn't matter to Hardin at all, but now that the subject had been raised, it was jarring to actually _consider_ that Sydney... must once have been someone else as well.

"Or it may be," Sydney proposed, "that there was once a family of no repute, in a village too small to be named. It may be that none of it was of any interest to the nobility, who did not even think to keep records and genealogies in such an unimportant place."

"Spare us your vain imaginings," Raffeyn sneered. "You did not spend your childhood tilling the soil or tending sheep. Your mannerisms are not those of a peasant's son."

"As an outlander," Sydney replied, "perhaps the peasants you have known differ from the peasants of Valendia. Perhaps our peasants are the very equal of your nobility."

Hardin could almost hear the smirk in Sydney's voice, even from the distance he must maintain. It was almost as if he were having fun giving Raffeyn his snide responses. Though as the Father had said, this was not a game, and the robed figure that he had seen kneeling before the fire was rising, holding... something that Hardin could not make out from where his spirit watched, but the tip glowed white-hot. Hardin's heart shuddered, and he tried to move closer, even just by one pace. As expected, the Sight began to fade; the dim room grew darker still, and the voices more distant. 

It didn't matter how close he could come, Hardin reminded himself. While his body remained in the cell below, he was less than a shade - he could do nothing to help Sydney. Yet he could not make himself let go, leaving Sydney alone with them, even knowing that Sydney could not sense his presence.

The words spoken before him were as dim and blurred as what he saw, but he could hear the voices rising, growing more impatient, Sydney's remaining defiant. The figure that had approached from before the fire stood at his side, raising whatever implement they had been heating...

Hardin found himself back in the cell, Sydney's barely stifled cry ringing in his ears. In frustration, he pounded his fist against the wall he leaned upon. He _must_ find a way to stop this before it went any further.

It was some comfort when he tried the minor spell again, having realized he'd spent some time in his scrying. _This_ time he felt the Dark respond, flowing to him and through him, changing and settling down over him like a snowfall, steadying him in precisely the way the spell should. 

Even so, he remained still where he was, weighing his options. So he now could cast at least a minor spell. Yet what could he do with that ability? He could presumably unlock the cell, but five armed Crimson Blades still stood by. He could not take them by surprise if he opened the locks first to approach them, nor if he picked off only those who stood close together to one side or the other with a lesser spell beforehand. And even if he were capable of casting a greater spell that might strike them all, within the confines of the small dungeon and its stone walls, the spread of the power would do him just as much damage. The cell was not large enough for a circle even a pace across, so he could not summon.

But he had to do _something_ , and quickly. In the absence of any more useful ideas, he scryed upon the room where they were questioning Sydney once more. Even from a distance he could see blackened marks upon Sydney's torso as it convulsed. Sydney's breath rasped as Hardin again tried to move towards him, and as the Sight dissipated, he could hear Sydney _laughing_ , hysterically, perhaps half-mad from pain...

Hardin's fists clenched against the cold stone. He _had_ to get out.

Perhaps he could trick the guards, he thought. Perhaps he could go to the bars, shake them as if he were desperate, utter a word under his breath that might be mistaken for another curse, then pretend hopelessness again until they relaxed... but whether he attempted to wrest one of their weapons away, or target some of them with a spell, he would still wind up having to face some of them without surprise in his favor, and without much room to use whichever offense he might choose. Even so, for Sydney's sake, he would risk it.

Or he would have, had he not been instructed otherwise. Again his fist struck the wall. _Stay alive,_ Sydney had told him.

\-----

So far, Sydney had managed to accomplish what he had set out to do. He had not given them the satisfaction of making him cry out or beg, much less give in. But they had only begun, and the pain inflicted by hot iron and burning coals applied to the flesh was likely the least of what they might do before they were finished.

And they might finish sooner than expected, for the wounds they inflicted were, as he had suspected might be the case, not healing. The Dark could not reach him here to repair his damaged body any more than to obey his command.

And so he lay there, panting, shaking, blistered, likely bruised from writhing against the stone he lay upon. He did not know how long he could endure, though he was sure that they could make this last much, much longer. But they had torn nothing from him, and that was something with which he could be satisfied.

He even managed to smile as Father Raffeyn paced back to stand beside him again. "Perhaps it is time for a small respite," he suggested. "A change of subject... you might be inclined to discuss something less personal, more mundane. How many have you amassed to wait within Leá Monde?"

"Forgive me, Father..." The words came out breathless, as did the small laugh that accompanied. "I am... finding it a bit hard... to concentrate."

The back of Raffeyn's hand struck his face unexpectedly. "If you require help to focus, we will provide it. How many men?"

Again Sydney dared to laugh. "...Enough."

Raffeyn sighed. "Must we go on this way?" he asked, gesturing to the inquisitors to return from the hearth, their implements heated anew. "This would be so much easier for all of us if you would just _answer_."

Sydney offered him no more than another smirk - and then a shout he nearly choked on, as the heated iron pierced his side. He could hear and smell the crackling of burning flesh, but the pain was becoming... dull. Distant.

His eyes had closed, and when he opened them again, there was something else beyond the ceiling of the Blades' makeshift torture chamber. The room was dim, yet there was a light overtaking it, descending upon it... or perhaps it was he, ascending towards it? 

...Or perhaps it was only that They were everywhere, and now his eyes had been truly opened.

The smirk he wore faded to a faint, wondering smile. His arms, useless and forced wide, now felt as if they had opened willingly, to embrace those who now embraced him. 

All was well. He would be fine.

\-----

...Sydney had fallen silent, and Hardin did not know _why_ he had fallen silent. His body still lived, it jerked and twisted in response to the work of the inquisitors, but no longer did Sydney laugh, or offer snide responses, or bite back a shout before it became a scream. It might have been Hardin's unusual vantage point, seeing with his spirit rather than his eyes, but it was almost as if Sydney's soul had disappeared. As if his body was too broken to inhabit, and it had simply... left.

But he could do nothing, not even draw near enough to look into Sydney's eyes, while he was scrying. Hardin had to get out, to go to him, but he still knew not how he might manage to dispose of five knights within such close quarters.

He might lure them off somehow, he thought. A disturbance somewhere - he could cast a spell a bit further away, then while distracted... but then again, the area was not large enough that he could draw them far, and even if he could, likely some would go to investigate, while others remained at their assigned post. Or they might not allow themselves to become distracted at all - presumably Raffeyn had warned them that upon the stone being taken elsewhere, Hardin would be able to use the Dark.

But Sydney... Hardin scryed the room again. Absent of his conscious thought, Sydney's throat uttered a moan that did not sound like Sydney, a moan of pure agony, and Hardin's soul groaned in empathy. He _had_ to get to Sydney in the flesh, to bring him out...

...Or something did.

If he must physically remain in the cell, but his spirit could move about most of the hold, then he could return in spirit to the storeroom where he had first entered - where already a circle had been drawn, waiting for a summoning incantation that had never come.

Loathe as he was to leave Sydney, it seemed like a plausible solution, and perhaps the only one. The minotaur he had originally planned, even if it was not banished or turned back by the stone when it came near, would not likely be able to make it all the way to Sydney and yet remain in Hardin's control, if the Dark could not reach it - and left to its own reasoning, it would not think to rescue Sydney. But in fulfilling its original task, in its original location, it might cause enough of a disturbance that all available knights would be called in to handle it. It might even be that Raffeyn and the inquisitors would be forced to stop while the creature was dealt with.

It would have been well worth the effort to try it... had Hardin not scryed the interior of the storeroom only to find that it was no longer an option. When he had scryed for a moment two nights before, he had thought the circle was as he had left it, but perhaps he had not gotten a good enough look, or perhaps it had happened yesterday; while most of the circle remained intact, it looked as though some crates or boxes nearby had been moved, for something had been dragged across one of the lines of sand, smearing and distorting it. The circle had been rendered useless, unless he could reach it and restore the damaged portion.

And if he could have reached it, it would not have been to the storeroom that he would have gone. The five knights still, unsurprisingly, remained at their post outside his cell when he returned, and again Hardin scryed as close as he could to Sydney.

They seemed to have paused for the moment, seeing that Sydney was no longer responsive. One of the inquisitors was returning their implements to the fire, while the other lingered near the table where Sydney lay gasping for breath. His attention did not appear to be on Sydney, however, but on Raffeyn, pacing idly nearby. "...What is _that_?" the inquisitor inquired curiously.

"Eh...? Oh!" Raffeyn seemed just as surprised as he glanced down to see what the inquisitor - and now Hardin - saw. There was a faint, cold glow within the long jacket he wore, and Raffeyn reached a hand into his pocket to retrieve the object causing it. "That's very interesting - I've never seen it do _this_ before."

Freed of the covering fabric, the glow was unmistakable, and originating from an object no bigger than his palm. Hardin suspected he knew what it was, and the inquisitor confirmed it. "You mentioned a safeguard against his sorcery... This stone, then?"

"Indeed."

There was a brief, but meaningful pause. "Does the cardinal know you possess such an item?"

"Does he know?" Raffeyn chuckled. "Would I have shown it to you had I thought there was any chance you might turn your instruments upon me? Yes, Batistum knows. It was for this reason that I left my homeland to join with him in Valendia."

The conversation was not directly helping him to escape and reach Sydney, Hardin thought, but he remained, listening. More information about what this object was and how it worked might prove useful as he considered his options.

"'Tis the strangest tale," Raffeyn mused, holding the stone up before him, turning it to examine it from different angles. "One day an envoy appeared at my doorstep. They confirmed my name, declared themselves as representatives of Batistum and the church of St. Iocus. In my country, few have heard of this saint, but as I am a scholar by nature, I had come across the name a handful of times before. I had never thought it would have any bearing on my own fate, but Batistum too is well-studied. In his research, or perhaps that done on his behalf, they found a particular surname recurring in certain historical texts. It seems that my forefathers too were scholars, and made some fascinating discoveries, most of which have been lost to time - but for this." Raffeyn turned the stone in his hand with a flourish and a pleased smile. "All my life I'd thought it only a curious mineral formation, no more than an attractive family heirloom to sit upon a shelf, for I had never had the opportunity to use it as it was intended. If there are sorcerers in Archades, they keep themselves well hidden."

"And yet you have not answered the question of what it is," the inquisitor observed, as the other returned to his side.

"It is said that long ago, God gifted the children of man with holy stones, so that they and their descendants might use them to defend and retain their kingdoms. Allegedly they were able to absorb and negate... certain magical forces. You call it the Dark, but it has been known by other names," he explained, almost absently. "This is not such a stone, mind you - if such stones ever truly existed. But there are certain naturally occurring stones which _stored_ such a power. One of my ancestors performed experiments with it, and altered it such that it would perform the same purpose as the fabled holy stones. And thus, a stone that absorbs the Dark, preventing its use by these sorcerers - manufacted nethicite." He looked away from the stone, giving the two inquisitors a meaningful look. "It is a creation of science - and as it _prevents_ sorcery, it can hardly be considered sorcery itself, can it?"

"Our job is to procure answers, not provide them," said the newly returned inquisitor. "I would leave that determination to the cardinal himself, and it sounds as if he has already made up his mind."

"Quite." Raffeyn regarded the stone again. "I've never seen it glow so brightly - when I left my home, it was so dark as to resemble coal. But since I arrived, and began using it on behalf of the church, I have watched it light up from within, enlivened by the presence of the Dark. Long centuries it has waited to feed... and I suppose it has never had so much to absorb as now, in the presence of this fellow." He leaned in, regarding Sydney, who now lay mostly still on the table, his breathing shallow but even. "Speaking of the devil - literally or figuratively - he seems to have recovered somewhat from the last round. Might it be time to try again?" he suggested, returning the stone to his pocket.

Hardin still could not see much of Sydney, but he did seem much better than he had when Hardin had begun to scrye, no longer gasping for breath or convulsing. ...He _had_ to find a way to prevent them from resuming, rather than watching helplessly from a distance. Just in case the bright glow of Raffeyn's stone meant something, Hardin tried to scrye closer. He was neither surprised or dismayed by instead finding himself back within the cell, as his next intention would have been to check his physical surroundings again, to take stock and see whether anything had changed.

At a glance, everything was as it had been. The knights remained watchful outside his cell - and just to see what might happen, Hardin turned in a rage that was hardly feigned and went to the front of the cell, taking hold of the bars and shaking them furiously.

His answer came in the blade of a sword jutting through, forcing him to step away quickly. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay back," warned the knight that held it. The other four were now alert as well, with swords in hand or hands on their hilts.

At the moment, Hardin cared very little about what was good for _him_. Even so, he did back away, sitting down against the wall with his head in his hands. There had to be some way to escape, now that he could call upon the Dark - even if he could not use the spells that would have been most useful. Sydney had teleportation at his disposal, as well as his compulsion; the distortion of the circle in the storeroom would not have prevented Sydney from summoning, for he did not require one - it only required less of his own energy to summon with a circle than without.

...Which was true of anyone, actually, Hardin thought suddenly. The reason Sydney could summon without setting a circle first was not because of some unique talent that only he possessed. It was because he had tremendous strength in the Dark, and the ability to withstand more of it being channeled through his being than anyone else living, rather than a portion of the power being borne by the circle. Hardin's ability to summon greater beasts _with_ a circle was unusual, and a sign he was particularly strong in the Dark, or so Sydney had told him - and the amount that one would need to channel to summon such creatures in the absence of a circle would have been too much for anyone, enough to severely damage a mortal's body or his spirit, or both.

Sydney had warned him from the beginning of the dangers of drawing too deeply upon the Dark. A few times Hardin had felt the effects of overstepping his limits by small margins, and even that was unpleasant to say the least. He had also cared for Sydney in the privacy of their rooms when Sydney had endured more of the Dark than a mortal could have survived, tending to the physical and spiritual effects as he gradually healed. Hardin was quite familiar with that manner of overindulgence as seen secondhand. For Sydney, he was willing to risk it.

It might disable him for a time afterwards, though, he reminded himself - or possibly worse, considering how deeply even Sydney was affected. He needed to think it through, weigh the likelihood of success, and decide what he most needed to accomplish while he was conscious and thinking clearly. To ensure that Sydney would be able to use the Dark was the most important point, particularly if after working this magic, Hardin could not... for whatever reason. So then - he needed to get Sydney away from Raffeyn, or Raffeyn away from Sydney. If possible, make certain that Raffeyn could not return to Hardin, for then Sydney would not be able to assist him. But of the greatest importance was putting distance between Raffeyn and Sydney - for there might be little left for Sydney to assist anyhow.

He thought he had an idea, though it depended on that stone Raffeyn carried, and how it worked. For long he had assumed that it was turning the Dark away, but Raffeyn had said it _absorbed_ the Dark. So then, would a creature that was not _of_ the Dark, but summoned _through_ the Dark be banished once it came too close to the stone? Or would Hardin simply lose control over it?

They were going to have to find out, he decided - for he let himself return to the room where Sydney was being questioned, only to find Sydney was once more gasping for breath, his body rising and falling in spasms of pain. Raffeyn stood at his head, grasping his hair, yanking his head down against the stone surface of the table. "You _will_ answer my questions, Losstarot," he hissed furiously.

That was enough. Hardin went instead to the storeroom, for perhaps a simple, partially disfigured circle would be better than none at all. He concentrated his energy on what was left of it, focusing on it with his spirit while his physical body remained seated in the cell, his face still hidden in his hands, obscuring the incantation he began to murmur under his breath - a different one than he had originally intended. While a minotaur would have easily destroyed the contents of the storeroom, Hardin needed this summon to do far more damage, and on a larger scale. And although Hardin had resigned himself to the knowledge that he was going to do himself harm with this summoning, perhaps the harm would be less severe if he were working with an element in which he was particularly strong.

Though he kept his voice low, apparently he had been near silent long enough that at least one of the guards took notice of his muttering. "Care to say that out loud, cultist?"

Hardin barely heard it, and did not see; his attention was on the circle in the storeroom, and the ritual words he was speaking. Even though he was not physically present in the same room as the circle, it seemed at least that it was bearing some of the burden. The power that was flowing into him was more than he would normally have been comfortable with channeling, but not yet overwhelming. Perhaps because of the damage done to the circle, it did not flow evenly, but in ebbs and flows that threatened to distract him, as if his mind were being buffeted about like a ship at sea in a storm. Even so, he _would_ manage it. Sydney's safety, and perhaps his own life, depended on it. Without Sydney's security ensured, neither of them would leave this place alive.

"Hey, you!" The guards were beginning to realize he was not merely talking to himself, and there was the rattle of a key in the lock. "What devilry are you-"

Hardin opted to answer, and raised his voice that they may hear the last. "...Acaldra-mezas-oriclas-torrinra."

The knights stopped short as the entire building shuddered at the completion of Hardin's incantation. Inside the storeroom, the circle which should have flared to life with a bright glow instead flickered in an inconsistent fashion. Hardin had begun to feel lightheaded, his body much too heavy, but he ignored it. His will was strong, and his creature _would_ come forth. He had only to hold the power for long enough... it was already on its way...

And possibly as uncomfortable as Hardin with the manner of its arrival. The titan was Hardin's favored summon, a being of stone naturally aligned with his aptitude for the element of earth, difficult to damage and able to deal much of its own. But without the assistance of a proper circle, much less the more elaborate one Hardin would normally have used for such a creature, Hardin sensed its indignation, as if it were being forced into a space in which it could not fit. At present, Hardin felt much the same - his soul was engulfed in the current of the Dark, threatening to be torn apart if he insisted on clinging to his body _and_ drawing the titan from one plane of existence to another. Even so, Hardin remained steadfast.

Moments later - agonizing moments that seemed to stretch on far longer than they possibly could have - it was done, and the titan unfurled within the storeroom, sending the crates and barrels in its vicinity flying. Instinctively Hardin flinched as one passed through the vantage point from which his spirit stood watching; the summon itself had taken far more power than he had believed he was capable of withstanding, and he recognized that already he was incapable of controlling its actions for long. It was just as well that he had not planned a particular task for the titan to perform.

With the last vestiges of strength he could yet muster to maintain control, he passed but one instruction to the creature: _Destroy._ Unsettled as the titan was, it needed very little suggestion. Immediately another quake shook the building from the foundations up, this time greater. 

Having completed the spell and given direction, Hardin let go - and only barely managed to remember that there was still something he must not lose hold of. His physical body seemed foreign, uninviting. Absent of the awkward, ill-prepared summoning and the fits and starts that had ushered the titan through, the Dark by contrast was smooth and bold, intoxicating and tempting. It knew his rage at seeing Sydney mistreated, his terror of returning to the cell in which he was held; it whispered in his heart as it flowed through, telling him of what he could do if he gave in and embraced it. By contrast, his body held little aside from pain, weakness, limitation...

In fact, he could feel that it was choking, and he could not think why, nor why he should care. He should leave. The flesh could do nothing to help him now, nor could it help...

Sydney. Yes, he needed to go to Sydney. He remembered now, and the Dark would let him see Sydney. Though the chaos of the Dark raged through him, that was enough for him to find his direction.

At first Hardin thought that the Sight had grown dim even at a safe distance from the stone, but after a moment he realized it was sharper than it had ever been. The haze that clouded his vision was dust, shaken from the rafters and woodworked detailing in the disused room, fragments of stone and mortar beginning to fail before the titan's rage close by, and it was though every small mote were visible before him. Through the drifting dust, he could see others - the two inquisitors, one fallen to his knees, the other reaching out to steady himself upon the table where Sydney remained in shackles. By the Dark's power, even at a distance he could see more clearly the injuries inflicted by the inquisitors, the blisters and blackened flesh, blood smeared and dripping...

He could see Father Raffeyn, having backed up against the wall, gripping a bit of the carven paneling to keep his balance, looking around in terror. Within the pocket of the jacket he wore, the stone was plainly visible, for it glowed even brighter than before. Hardin's fury was as a feast for the Dark, and it cackled as he rushed forth, ready to destroy-

And then he was gasping in a deep, painful breath, and another. He was sitting upon stone and against stone, hard and uncomfortable, and even his flesh felt grotesque as he clutched at his head. There was no room for air in his lungs, no room in his body-

It seemed a relief when his soul was once again expelled from such useless trappings, such crippling burdens, that he might return to Sydney.


	8. Chapter 8

Just as at the time of Leá Monde's collapse, there was chaos. The ground quaked, people were panicking, but it had little to do with him. There was pain, yes, but he had been gathered up in the arms of the gods, and whatever was happening to his earthly body was of little importance. It would pass, as all things passed, and in the meantime his eternal soul was secure. He was loved. He was protected.

He could have remained there forever, gazing upwards into the powers that mortal eyes could not withstand, and perhaps on some plane he did - but in the world his soul had been given to inhabit, it seemed that not long at all had passed before Sydney was staring up at only a ceiling. He peered at it curiously, not quite comprehending why he now looked upon something so mundane, unless it was the fact that it was moving. Or was it he himself shaking? 

Returning to consciousness of his own body, he felt the pain he had sensed distantly, now sharp and near-overwhelming. His body still bore the marks of the inquisitors' implements, he observed, looking down over his torso, and one of them still stood by, grasping the edge of the table. Of course Sydney was trembling... but not so much as he had thought. A fine hail of dust and bits of stone rained down on him where he lay, for the hold was under attack by... something. It took a moment for Sydney to recall himself enough to remember why he could not sense any disturbance other than the physical, or any sign of who or what might be attacking.

The inquisitor at his side stumbled at the force of another quake, and Sydney looked up to his right hand; it was still shackled, quite unnecessarily, for his limbs remained unresponsive. Again he looked to the ceiling, shedding small fragments of its stone, with only vague concern; whether because of the lingering calm of the nearness of the gods, or perhaps in light of the damage done to his body, his mind could not bring itself to be troubled. Whatever was happening, he recognized he could not do anything about it. Ideally the ceiling would not give way above him before he could determine why he was here in this hall once more.

The dust was beginning to sting his eyes, clouding the room with debris, and suddenly it was lit up with a cold light. At his left, Sydney heard an incredulous, shaky laugh, and turned his head to see Father Raffeyn, and he held the light - which Sydney could see was not _Light_ at all - in his hand, staring at it in wonder. The stone, Sydney realized.

"So much power..." Raffeyn said, amazed. "All these years... For generations, lying in wait, its hunger unsated, with no one the wiser. What might it have wrought, what might it have prevented, had we known what this stone could do...?"

He was wrong, Sydney realized. The glare shed by the stone pulsed, flickered. It held great power, yes, for it had been absorbing each movement of the Dark - each spell he and Hardin had tried to cast, each of Hardin's attempts at scrying, the energy that seamlessly worked his limbs... the strong flows of the Dark that had tried to rush in to heal the near-mortal wounds inflicted upon his body, and were still trying reach him to do their work now. The Dark had been not turned aside, but pulled in, made compact in a single place, much the same as had been wrought by the great quake in Leá Monde years ago. Less power had been used in the stone's presence, yes, and no souls had been drawn into it to Sydney's knowledge - if such a thing were possible - but the tremendous power to which the stone had borne witness had been forced into a much, much smaller focal point than the city. The centuries of unsated hunger of which Raffeyn spoke had not only been satisfied at long last, but gorged.

Even the Dark, lacking substance, could not be bound so tightly for long. Sydney might have warned Raffeyn, but if what he feared was true, there was nothing they could do to stop it, nor could they escape whatever was on the verge of happening. He only watched, listened to Raffeyn's quick, startled breaths as he stared into the glare of the stone.

When it came, it was far less dramatic than Sydney had expected; the stone simply shattered into small, glittering particles, drifting from Raffeyn's hand to mingle with the more ordinary dust that filled the room, disappearing as the light it shed.

"What...?" Raffeyn murmured in dismay, almost a whimper. "No... No! Nethicite was said to work wonders... reimagine civilizations... I was to..." 

At the stone's destruction, Sydney had already begun feeling the ripples of power within as the Dark rushed to him. He felt vibrations through his limbs, the stinging and straining as the tissue that had been burned and pierced began the process of healing. It was a different kind of agony, and he welcomed it, taking a deep breath and letting it go in a soft rebuke. "You are not the first man, Raffeyn, nor will you be the last, to overestimate your own ability... and underestimate the Dark." At the corner of the table, the bladed fingers of his hand flexed, and closed in a fist. All around him the Dark laughed, scoffed, danced, for it was once more permitted to return to its master. 

In a whorl of sudden anger, Raffeyn did not notice the movement of Sydney's hand, and slammed his own hands down upon the table, on either side of Sydney's head, staring down at him. "What does it matter? It was of enough use, for I have what Batistum asked of me. You are still in-"

Sydney did not see what happened from his vantage point, but he felt it. A sudden rushing of the Dark, like a strong gust of wind sweeping over him - and then Raffeyn was gone. No trace of his spirit nor his body remained.

Sydney's brow furrowed. Though he could not argue with a fate so befitting the man, that was unexpected, and somewhat troubling. But his limbs could move again, his wounds were healing. The Dark was no longer being drained away from him, and that meant that he should be able to use his magic, and thus he could free himself. Perhaps then he could determine what had happened - why the entire structure seemed to be shaking, what had become of Raffeyn.

The word of command died on his lips as he looked again to his right wrist, and found the shackle already gone. Likewise that on his left, and it was clear upon trying to push himself to a sitting position that his ankles had also been freed.

He knew how even before looking around, for now that the Dark had returned to him, he could feel his presence close by. The Lady's advice had proven true, for it was Hardin that had done this. But... what had he done, exactly? 

Sydney lifted his head to look about the room. Though he sensed Hardin's presence, it was as if he were scrying, and yet not quite... His eyes first caught sight of the inquisitor who had been standing beside the table a short time ago, huddled helplessly a few paces away, staring at where Raffeyn had been. Then he met the same fate - and seeing clearly this time, Sydney was all the more startled. The inquisitor's body dissolved, in the same manner as the bodies of those who served the Dark when they perished. His physical form faded, leaving behind a few motes of light, then disappearing into the billowing dust, much like the shattered nethicite. The other, beyond him near the hearth, was likewise consumed only instants later.

There were a number of unusual factors at play, Sydney acknowledged, but that was not a thing that the Dark would do left to its own devices ordinarily, nor was it quite like any spell he had ever seen. Was this too Hardin's doing? And if so, how?

Sydney turned, searching with both his eyes and his heart, and almost immediately found Hardin. ...Who was no longer only Hardin, but something else.

Hardin's soul was as familiar to Sydney as his body. He knew what it felt like when Hardin was watching him with the Sight, and he knew of the desperate terror that still fell upon him when the dreams of his imprisonment came in the night. As well, Sydney knew of the repressed anger that was rarely permitted to show itself, never as more than a brief bubbling to the surface, a small vent lest it overflow. Between the few, faint remaining echoes of conscious thought in Hardin's heart, his knowledge of Hardin's preferred magic, and the way the building shook, Sydney could guess what had likely happened. Desperate to stop the inquisitors and free the both of them, Hardin had summoned without proper preparation - and likely no minor spirit, but his favored titan. It had been too much of the Dark for him to withstand; he had been overcome, and the Dark had found within him something it might use. 

This was Hardin's soul standing by watching him, wrapped in the anger that had been trapped within, brought forth and fully realized as he was caught up by the Dark, encouraged by the Dark's own fondness of pain and violence. Sydney could not be sure if the shadowed, distorted figure, crackling with an excess of energies, was truly visible or only visible to him, for as a heartseer and the Keeper of the Dark, he could see many things that others could not. 

Yet it _was_ only Hardin's soul - what had become of Hardin's body? Had it already perished? Or, as Sydney initially had thought, was he only separated from it in part, similar to his scrying?

At the far end of the room, the wide doors flew open with a crash. "Father Raffeyn! A creature-"

Before the squadron of knights were able to see that their commander was no longer present, the creation of the Dark that held Hardin's soul turned to them, raised a hand in a gesture painfully familiar to Sydney. The same as when Hardin cast, the same as when he summoned. Just as the inquisitors, the knights were devoured by the Dark, leaving behind nothing but a momentary flicker.

Sydney needed to put a stop to this, and quickly, for the Dark would eat away at Hardin if he continued to embrace it, corrupting him until he was beyond recovery - no more than a maddened demon, and Sydney's only recourse would be to destroy him. 

The odds were, he thought, that if he was correct that Hardin had summoned without a circle and the other proper precautions, it was because his body was still below in the prison cell... if it had not perished in the attempt. If it had, there was nothing that could be done but to exorcise his soul from this realm. But if his body still lived, Sydney might be able to call Hardin back to it - back to himself.

He lifted a hand himself, and almost before he spoke the words of command, he recognized that he could not transport himself through the magic. The Dark had rushed in to fill him, yes, but to heal and restore his flesh and the use of his limbs. He had been so thoroughly drained of the requisite energies that it might take some time before he could gather enough of the Dark to also use such complicated magic as teleportation.

But, as his limbs now functioned, he might go on foot. Unarmed, but likely those Blades who were ready for battle were occupied elsewhere, and if they chanced to come upon him unexpectedly freed... they did not know he could not cast.

 _Hardin..._ Sydney's eyes lingered on the dark figure looming amidst the dust. He received no response but the sense of simmering anger, a fierce protectiveness as it recognized him, the determination - _Never again!_ it raged - but no warmth.

Sydney started for the door. As the Lady had instructed him, he had trusted in Hardin's strength - and it had been greater than he'd imagined, if he understood correctly what had caused this. But she had also told him to be ready to use his own strength when it was time, and it seemed that the time had come.

Though his legs had remained still and useless for over a day, they had certain advantages over limbs of flesh. There was no stiffness or weakness, and Sydney could have moved as swiftly as he ever had if not for the tremors that reverberated through the ground, occasionally causing him to stumble. As they had taken him from the dungeon, he had been mindful of the path, lest he need to return, but the inquisitors' work had left his thoughts somewhat scattered, his memories uncertain. They steered him mostly true, however, and his heart leapt when he found the stairwell he sought. Intact and unblocked, thankfully, given the rampaging of Hardin's summoned beast elsewhere.

Upon descending, he found the Blades who had been standing guard had gone, presumably to join the battle. He was the only one in the fore of the prison area, and Hardin...

Sydney rushed to the bars at the front of the cell. As he had expected, they were still locked, and inside, Hardin lay upon the floor, unmoving aside from the occasional spasm.

A ring of keys had been dropped before the bars, but Sydney ignored them and used the magic. It was beginning to return to him now, and a spell of unlocking was one of the quickest and least strenuous. It was still a relief when it worked as intended, so that he could throw the door wide and kneel beside Hardin, turning him over to see... approximately what he had expected. Though Hardin still lived, or his body would not have remained, his skin was pale, his eyes rolled back in his head. His breath came only occasionally, in gasps, as if he'd only just remembered his body needed to breathe. Though normally Sydney would have seen his aura alight with the elements in which he was strongest, now if he looked, he saw nothing but a writhing void - the Dark had overcome everything else.

"Hardin..." Sydney murmured in dismay, resting a hand as gently as he could manage against Hardin's cheek. He had seen people draw the Dark beyond their limits before, though not to this degree. 

In fact, he'd carried his usual satchel of supplies for such occasions with him still when he'd arrived, he remembered, and rose for a moment - the satchel and his sword and cloak still sat where they had been left when the Blades first brought him, and he gathered them up before returning to Hardin's side. He ordinarily carried potions and other remedies with him, for the occasional lesser overworking or easing his own discomfort when he bore a heavier burden on behalf of his brethren, who could not endure the Dark for so long as he. But in so dire a circumstance as this, he was not convinced anything he carried would be of help. Hardin could not swallow, and putting anything in his mouth might only cause him to choke. 

And more urgent than healing the damage done to body and soul by channeling so much of the Dark was the task of bringing the two together again. It was perhaps fortunate that Hardin's talent was to scrye from afar, for in the process he oft sent a portion of his spirit away from his body and then brought it back. If he had not been accustomed to the technique, the Dark might have overtaken his soul while still within his body and taken control of both. Or if it had driven Hardin's soul out on its own, it likely would have been an easy, clean break, body from soul, and his body would have perished... 

But upon examination, now that Sydney was there and seeing with his own eyes and his own talents, there was a part of Hardin's soul that remained, persisting despite being nearly buried by the Dark that had swept much of his spirit away. The power still roiled within him, filling the void left behind, but beneath it, Sydney could still sense Hardin's presence, fighting for the life of the body that tethered him to this plane. It was just a matter of reaching that other portion of him... convincing him that _this body_ was where his soul belonged, and that he could let the Dark overcome neither.

There was another tremor, this one stronger than Sydney had noticed yet, and he glanced up from Hardin as some of the stones were loosed from the walls, clattering to the floor. ...And he would have to do so quickly, because he did not trust the stability of the old building, particularly while underneath it. 

Perhaps a way to wake Hardin's consciousness quickly and simply, to remind him of who he was and where he belonged... was to remind him that there were reasons to return to his body, that his flesh could be inviting. Sydney had already bundled his cloak to cushion Hardin's head against the hard floor, and now he leaned in close, tilting Hardin's face towards him so that he could kiss him. Sydney's lips pressed against his mouth, his jaw, his throat, and he reached out with his mind, trying to speak to what he could find of Hardin's soul. _Hardin... come home. I am still here, waiting for you..._

Sydney continued until Hardin suddenly took a deeper, sharper breath. It would have seemed like a good sign, but the faint answer he received through the mindspeak was not in words, but only simple, primal feelings. A furious desire for vengeance foremost, but beneath that inescapable directive was more. Crowded. Crushed. Smothered...

 _I know, I know..._ Sydney's lips lingered on his forehead. _I will help you... we will make it right again. Come back to me, John - let me help._ His lips found Hardin's mouth again. _Please let me help. We will find a way._

The tremors around them were not so unnerving in themselves - Leá Monde still experienced minor quakes regularly - but the continuing clattering of bits of stone falling around the two of them was somewhat more troubling to Sydney, causing him to look up again. It was more worrisome given that unlike those in Leá Monde, this structure had not proven itself sturdy enough to survive multiple quakes already. Possibly more important than bringing Hardin back to himself was making certain they were not to be trapped. Without Hardin conscious and able to move, however, the chance seemed slim. Though Sydney had managed a simple spell, teleportation required far more of the Dark. He could tell without even trying that if he attempted to teleport even one of them outside the hold, nothing at all would happen. And though his arms and legs once again functioned, he was smaller and slighter than Hardin, not suited to lifting or carrying him.

The voice of Hardin's heart was still faint, muffled by the Dark that engulfed him, and not speaking in words, though the sensations were more complex. He'd returned to his body before. It was full. It did not want him. He no longer needed it, for he could destroy his enemies as never before.

Sydney understood the details of what had happened now. The excess of the Dark had overcome Hardin while he was scrying, streamed in to fill him and taken his place - and it would not relinquish a warm, living body, the kind it barely remembered yet craved, now that it had taken hold. As long as the overflow of power from his unassisted summoning lingered, there was nowhere to which Hardin's soul could return to escape the corruption of the Dark even if he were willing...

...The solution was so simple, Sydney felt foolish for not thinking of it at once. There was another minor spell, one which required very little of the spellcaster's own power, for the purpose was to steal energy from another - to restore one's own energy while preventing their opponent from casting. After having been so thoroughly emptied, and so recently, Sydney currently had very little of the Dark stored within him to work with... and beyond that which was preoccupied with its claim upon Hardin's soul, Hardin's body teemed with such a surplus that it was uninhabitable.

 _Remember yourself, Hardin. Remember who you are, and hold onto that. ...And if you cannot remember, I will do my best to remind you._ Sydney bent forward again, giving him another light kiss. _Just a little bit longer, Hardin, before I bring you home._

The spell Sydney had thought of was not intended to be used with such great measures of power; at first it seemed to lessen the overflow almost imperceptibly. But after Sydney had cast it once, the magic came easier - and with each successive spell, he was able to drain away more of the Dark that filled Hardin's physical and spiritual being, taking it into his own.

Hardin was still unconscious, though his body had stabilized some as the Dark withdrew at Sydney's command. His breathing was more even, some color had returned to his face, his eyes were merely closed. Sydney would have preferred to continue, and he intended to - but the quakes continued, and the pieces of stone that struck the floor around them were growing larger. This would all be for naught if they were buried alive. As for Hardin's soul, the part of it that did not remain within his body... trying to read his heart brought images and sensations rather than words. It had found more of the knights, and it was dispatching them the same as it had destroyed Raffeyn and the inquisitors, with nearly as much satisfaction - Hardin's desire for vengeance aligned with the Dark's eternal hunger for more violence and more death. 

There was some comfort in the thought that such an entity could not be damaged by any physical means even if the entire hold should topple - and surely given Hardin's innate talent, Sydney's could help him find his way home, no matter where his body may lie. Across from the cell, near the stairwell, a portion of the ceiling gave way; they were out of time, and Sydney had no choice. This time when Sydney raised his hand, the Dark flowed to and through him easily, and the teleportation spell was cast, complete.

Finally, in the darkness and stillness of the same patch of trees they had concealed themselves within only days past, Sydney could pause and breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in what seemed like ages. They were both physically safe, the Dark was responding - and then some, in Hardin's case. Those who had tormented them directly were no more, and though there were scores of knights nearby, the continuing commotion in the direction of the hold and the faint shuddering of the earth confirmed they were still otherwise occupied at the moment.

And so the only thing he need concern himself with was Hardin - saving his life, and saving his soul.

He spared a few moments to make Hardin's body more comfortable; laying Hardin out straighter upon the ground, moving the bundled cloak to his lap, so that Hardin might rest his head there. Fitting or ironic, he wondered, that he now cautiously moved Hardin's body to the semblance of a natural position, when Hardin had spent the last two days doing the same for him? The tinctures in his satchel would do no good when Hardin could not drink, but Sydney had also carried some of the raw materials; now that Hardin's breathing was not so harsh, Sydney brought forth a bit of root, crushing it and cutting it with his sharp fingers to draw out the juices within, cautiously coaxing Hardin's mouth open with the flat of the blades, slipping it beneath his tongue.

Dangerous as they could be, Sydney's hands then rested lightly upon Hardin's chest as he resumed his task. While his mouth spoke aloud the words that would transfer more of the Dark from Hardin to himself, his heart silently called out to Hardin's. _Hardin... we are outside, both I and the body which is waiting for your return. There is no longer any danger to me - you need not rage against them any longer._

He paused when a reply came, more coherent and somewhat less furious than those he had previously received. _...Sydney? I think I... I remember now..._

Sydney closed his eyes, relieved and exhausted. This was a good sign, he had drained away enough of the Dark to let Hardin's spirit speak over its cacophony once again - but it was not over. _Do you? What do you remember?_

 _I remember... you._ Again the fury surged. _...They hurt you. I had to stop them from hurting you._

The Dark was still clutching at him, agitating him. _You did - you stopped them,_ Sydney reassured him, draining away still more. _I am safe. Now it is you in danger, Hardin. You must break free of the Dark._

 _They cannot harm me._ Flashes of terror among the rage, of being trapped, unable to breathe. But it would never happen again. _No one can harm me._

 _The Dark is harming you_ now _, Hardin. Remember who you are._ Or, if he could not... _Remember who I am. What I am, what I was, that you sought to protect me. That is who you are - a man who would protect those who cannot protect themselves._

That gave him pause, but only for a moment. _And I failed. I failed... but now I have power._ The tone of his words grew firm again, more fierce - the Dark talking more than Hardin. _Now I am strong._

 _You have always been strong,_ Sydney told him urgently. _You are not the Dark, Hardin, and you are strong enough to free yourself from its grasp. Let go of it... let it go, and come back to me. You are John Hardin... You are more than the anger and the pain._

Sydney should have cleared enough of the Dark from him by this time; though the flow to his spirit remained, Hardin could not have cast the most elementary spell from within his body by Sydney's estimation. He ceased his own casting, instead leaning forward to where Hardin's head rested upon his knee, kissing him again. Something had seemed to flicker to life, a candle burned low nearly to the base, finding it had yet just a fragment of wick, and Sydney latched on to it, speaking more gently within their hearts. _I have no need for more power, John... I have need of_ you _. I_ know _you are more than this, and that you can_ have _more than this. Come back to me, John..._

There was a long pause. Not an absence, precisely - Hardin's soul was still there, able to communicate, but it did not know what to say. There was uncertainty, a flare of defiance, a stab of sudden fear. Sydney stroked his hair, smoothing it with the harmless palm of his hand. _Come back to me,_ he repeated.

_I... I don't..._

Sydney pulled his hand back at once as Hardin's body abruptly jerked, his muscles going taut. Before Sydney could think what to do, if he might be having a fit, if his flesh might finally be succumbing to what the Dark had done - the muscles relaxed again, Hardin's head rolling to the side with a faint sigh, as if he were falling asleep... or waking reluctantly. What was within _felt_ like Hardin, Sydney thought, yet...

No - a slow smile came to his lips as the Dark simply did its work as intended, bringing him the whispers of Hardin's heart that Sydney had been unable to hear while they'd been held captive, though they'd been physically so close together. Hearing them again was unspeakably comforting, all the more because what Sydney heard was _Hardin_. Hardin was confused... very tired. Very relieved, when his eyes cracked open to try to get his bearings, and he looked up to see Sydney's face. Sydney shared that sentiment; his own eyes closed as he offered a brief but earnest prayer of gratitude to the gods, for it _was_ Hardin, and seemingly _only_ Hardin.

"Sydney..." Hardin's voice was slurred, and though relieved, he was also still disoriented and confused. What had happened, where they were... what was in his mouth - though after a moment he recognized the taste, and that gave him a hint of what he was missing. "...What in the hell... What did I do...?" Even as he spoke, it was starting to dawn on him, and his horror at what had almost happened crept in.

"You very nearly became a cautionary tale," Sydney replied, seeing as Hardin was recalling the answer to his own question. "You also very nearly disobeyed my final instructions to you."

Hardin hesitated, searching his sluggish memory. When it came to him, Hardin started to lift a hand, then simply let it fall upon his chest as he closed his eyes again with an exhausted sigh. "And trust me when I say that I am very, very sorry."

"Yet you do not entirely regret it," Sydney observed, placing his own hand lightly over Hardin's.

Hardin shook his head, very slightly. "I did manage to free you. And I... think I remember..." His voice trailed off, for part of him shrank from what he had done. A different part of him craved more.

He shifted uncomfortably in Sydney's lap, and Sydney rested the other hand against Hardin's cheek again. "The wrongs done to us have been avenged. The stone Raffeyn carried was destroyed - though there may be other such stones. But for now, we may rest... all that was required of us has been completed. ...Or is still ongoing," he observed, with a glance towards the hold, the shouts and crashing still heard in the distance, the occasional shudder in the earth. "A titan, is it?"

Hardin gave a faint nod, then paused, the hint of a smile coming to his lips. "It's still fighting?"

"It is." Sydney gave him a devilish smirk. "I opted to remove the two of us from the grounds before the ceiling came down upon us. ...I suppose if you were moved to do something so suicidally dangerous, at least you made the most of it."

"If I had but one chance," Hardin mumbled, "I had to be certain that the job would be done."

Sydney dared to laugh quietly. "You came here to perform one relatively easy task. That task is _certainly_ accomplished."

Again Hardin gave a sparse smile, then grimaced, reaching up to remove the crushed root Sydney had placed under his tongue, tossing it aside. "I think this has outlasted its usefulness as well... it has gone bitter."

Sydney nodded, and reached over to his satchel. "If you can swallow, I have potions that will be of more help - and also perhaps more palatable."

"I can try." Hardin let out a long, deep breath. "Sydney..."

Having found the correct bottle, Sydney shook his head, not even looking to Hardin as he uncorked it. "You looked after my body when my strength had left me, willingly and without prompting. Why should you think I would not do the same?"

"...Of course." Hardin struggled to push himself partially upright, even as Sydney helped support his shoulders. "And yet when the Dark took me, if you had not-"

"John." Sydney didn't want to think about it, how narrow his margin of success had been. "Drink. Just a bit to start - it may be some time before your body has remembered how to function naturally."

Hardin nodded in silent obedience and did so, Sydney guiding his shaking hand and the bottle before easing him back down. 

The potion seemed to sit well enough with Hardin's stomach, causing the discomfort to fade slightly as the two of them sat together in the quiet darkness beneath the trees. Sydney could also spare more of the magic he'd drawn to heal the minor wounds Hardin had acquired at the hands of the Blades. It was, Sydney realized, the first time in days that either of them had lacked something to be worried about, discussed, solved, or planned. 

In the sudden otherwise peaceful silence, the tremors that still emanated from the hold and the faint, indistinct sounds of battle seemed more incongruous, and Sydney glanced in that direction also as Hardin turned his head. "To think... I had hoped mostly to create a distraction," Hardin murmured absently. "Without a master, without a circle to bind it, how long will it last?"

"Until it tires or is defeated, I suppose," Sydney replied, stroking Hardin's hair again. "Or until it is banished. Would you have me leave you for a moment and do so?"

Even as he spoke, Sydney was already smirking, and Hardin laughed softly. "I think not. ...However many of the cardinal's men may perish, it is not nearly enough," he added, quiet and bitter. Sydney nodded; he too had little sympathy for those who would choose the side of the oppressor. 

But regardless of the bitterness, the distant noise, and the memories of pain that lingered in both their minds and bodies, the moment was peaceful and calm. Though everything had gone so wrong, and they'd endured so much, at last they were both safe, and their initial goal had been met. After the incident had escalated so greatly, it seemed unlikely the cardinal would think to continue stationing his men so near Leá Monde. The commander of the outpost had fallen, many of his knights with him, they had lost two inquisitors and a particularly useful artifact, and their stores had presumably been destroyed. To replenish their goods, to assign a new commander and more men, when so much had been lost-

Sydney's thoughts were halted by a more severe tremor. The knights' shouting was louder, some of it closer; the gate had been opened and several of the knights were storming out. Both he and Hardin tensed, for the Blades might have been fanning out to search, and the trees where Sydney had brought them would be an obvious place to look.

But the knights stopped beyond the walls, turning back to watch as more of their brothers followed. Suddenly there was an even greater, louder rumble, and again the earth shook, this time longer, hard enough that Sydney put down a hand to steady himself, somewhat alarmed. Amidst the sustained rumbling, the shouts of the knights grew louder still.

From the shelter of the darkness beneath the trees, Sydney and Hardin watched, too weary to be truly shocked or even surprised as one of the inner walls crumbled, and part of the roof fell with it. Bit by bit, the hold collapsed in upon itself as the supporting structures in its center gave way, a cascading fall that damaged even the outer walls, as pieces of the inner walls tumbled against them. The hold which had stood vacant for so long was gone - no more than piles of rubble and the dust thrown into the air by its destruction.

The knights held back, waiting until they were sure that the tremors had ceased, before cautiously starting towards what was left of the hold in search of survivors. Sydney glanced down at Hardin, who had rolled to his side and was still staring almost blankly at the scene, and Sydney raised an eyebrow. "...Nicely done."

Hardin watched a moment longer, then let himself roll onto his back again, closing his eyes as his head came to rest once more in Sydney's lap. "...I am _very_ tired," he muttered.

Sydney smiled. "You've earned your rest," he told Hardin. "By all means... but your sleep will be more restful if you can drink a bit more first."

Once he'd done so, he settled down again and said not another word, barely even in his spirit, which was likewise too exhausted for coherent thought. Nor did Sydney, letting Hardin drift off to sleep without interruption or delay. His head lay upon Sydney's knee, Sydney's hand absently stroking it as he watched the remaining Crimson Blades' scurrying about from afar, from within the safety of darkness and the Dark.


	9. Chapter 9

Hardin would have thought he had dreamed it all upon waking the next day. Everything seemed quite normal, even pleasant. The weather was mild given the season, and there was sunlight beaming through the leaves of the trees overhead, dancing upon the grass and illuminating Sydney's light hair, where he was curled up in an admittedly different position than he usually adopted when they were traveling together. Normally he was lying at Hardin's side, but now Hardin's head was at Sydney's knee, and Sydney lying on his side at a somewhat awkward angle, so that Hardin was looking at him nearly upside-down. But he _was_ looking at Sydney, sleeping peacefully in the sunlight and the soft grass, with familiar song drifting through the air, courtesy of the birds native to the region surrounding Leá Monde...

And voices shouting orders somewhere, not terribly nearby. Hardin didn't need to move, even to lift his head, to See, and so he did... and everything came back to him at the sight of rubble where once there had been a hold.

His first instinct was to wake Sydney and warn him, but before he could do so, his thoughts caught up. He was fairly certain Sydney had told him to sleep, and Sydney would not have let the both of them fall asleep so close to the enemy if there had been any chance of danger, no matter how exhausted he had been - and Hardin had no doubt that Sydney must have been exhausted. And now he was at rest, his head pillowed upon his arms, his expression serene.

Very well then, Hardin told himself. Even not knowing what certainty Sydney had had of their safety that he would dare to sleep, Hardin would not disturb him. He would only keep watch until Sydney woke. There was the question of what to do if anything happened while he kept watch, for Hardin still felt... Scorched was the most apt word that came to mind - as if he'd been burned from within, a lamp whose flame had flared too high and blackened the glass. He did not know if he could cast, and he suspected that even if he could, it would not be comfortable to try.

And Sydney... Hardin wasn't sure what exactly Sydney had done last night after he'd been freed, but he knew what Sydney had endured beforehand. It was a wonder that he could appear so calm, even in sleep. Hardin had no desire to rouse him, to bring back the memories from which he had escaped into blissful oblivion. 

Fortunately the Blades were minding their own business, trying to reorganize themselves with the loss of their commander and their outpost, and had no interest in searching the area for escaped prisoners. Some, from the conversations Hardin overheard, believed that he and Sydney must have perished in the collapse. They would get a fine surprise, Hardin thought grimly. ...Someday. Not this day. This day he intended to stay still and preferably unseen. And eventually he intended to get up and start the walk back to Leá Monde, assuming he and Sydney were both able. Ideally, he also intended to find a stream or spring not far out of their way so that he might wash; he felt filthy, inside and out.

With little need to worry about the doings of the Blades unless they wandered closer, the watch Hardin kept often meant only watching Sydney sleep. From where he lay, from above, from behind... It was a watch he'd been keeping for years now. Somehow he had never tired of it.

He still had not when Sydney finally stirred, after enough time had passed that the patches of sunlight had shifted from illuminating his hair to illuminating his back, setting the dark tattoo into sharp contrast. Sydney turned his head a bit, drowsily, and immediately grimaced, settling back down with a sigh. "How are you feeling?" Hardin asked quietly.

Sydney opened his eyes, and rather than answering, frowned slightly. "You should still be sleeping."

"I suspect this manner of weariness will not be solved by more sleep." Hardin had another suspicion as well, given their relative positions. "On the other hand... I mean no offense, but if you were so tired to fall asleep during your own watch, I can take over now that I've rested."

Sydney shook his head, with another small grimace, and he started to sit up. "That is not quite the truth of the matter," he remarked, his expression softening. "I had thought to keep watch, yes, as we are still all too near to the Blades for comfort... but it came to me that there was no need. The gods have been with us through all of this, and they remain with us still."

"Ah..." It seemed a bit too simple for Hardin's peace of mind, especially if the gods had been at their side throughout all of _that_ , yet it had still taken place - but when it came to the gods, Sydney knew far more than he. And it was true, no one had come upon them while they both slept.

Hardin started to sit up as well, for Sydney had begun rolling his neck to the side as if it were stiff, but his intentions were turned aside by the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed him when he moved, the trembling of his arms. He'd not _physically_ moved since waking, and it caught him by surprise.

Of course Sydney noticed at once, and despite his own discomfort, got to his knees to reach out, in case Hardin needed steadying. "Did I not tell you that you should still be resting?"

"It matters not," Hardin muttered, sitting still while the dizziness faded. "This is not so much worse than I've endured before, after no more than casting too much too quickly."

"And just as at those times, it would be relieved more quickly if you would follow my instructions." 

Hardin had to smile a bit at the brusque words, for even as they were being spoken, Sydney had turned to the satchel at his side, seeking the correct bottle among the assortment within. "And yours will be eased faster if you let my hands do what they can, once I've drunk whatever you have for me," Hardin told him. "Don't argue - I'm already sitting up, and to touch you is no chore."

Sydney hesitated for a moment. It was no surprise that he would demand obedience, for after an occasion when he'd been seen as vulnerable, Hardin knew by now that he was loathe to concede even a small weakness or mistake, or the slightest bit of authority. But instead, for a wonder, Sydney nodded, offering Hardin another of his potions. "A fair enough arrangement," he acknowledged.

After Hardin had drained the bottle and given it back to Sydney, Sydney settled down with his back still turned from putting it away, and Hardin found his hands already trembled less as they rested upon Sydney's shoulders. Though still noticeably weakened, he needed little strength to simply caress and squeeze, pressing his thumbs in where he knew the tension so often gathered in Sydney's neck and upper back, where the nature of Sydney's own hands prevented him from loosening the knots. He wondered vaguely if there were aches and pains in different areas than the usual, after a day of Sydney's metal limbs not being able to support their own weight or balance... At least now that it was light, and he was not too exhausted to scrye Sydney from the front as easily as he looked upon his back, he could confirm that although traces of blood and black trails of ash residue remained, the burns and wounds that the cardinal's inquisitors had inflicted upon Sydney had healed without leaving any lasting mark. 

Yet they _had_ been inflicted. Hardin knew well, and with renewed awareness after his own experiences over the past few days, that some wounds lingered far longer than the physical manifestations. "...You never answered, when I asked how you're feeling."

Again Sydney hesitated, and his answer when it came was softly, humbly spoken. "Grateful."

Hardin almost protested, to point out that surely Sydney knew what he actually meant - but it occurred to him that perhaps Sydney was not speaking of the work of his hands at all. The gods were with them, and had been with them...

He nodded, leaning in to kiss the nape of Sydney's neck before his hands resumed. He supposed he felt the same in the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> A few footnotes, you might say, most because I find the workings of fictional magic systems and the history involved in shared canon _fascinating_ :
> 
> \- Much of what happens to Hardin in the last bit is directly inspired by canon, in the eventual fates of Grissom and Guildenstern. ...I expect there's no need to map exactly what and where, it's probably obvious once noted, but now I wonder if Grissom would've had a better time of it if he had just known to use a circle.
> 
> \- Similar topic, you will note that Hardin is smart enough to consider how small the room is before he tries to cast Fireball. ;)
> 
> \- Yes, manufacted nethicite doesn't work _quite_ this way, or at least as enthusiastically, in FFXII. But as it could be used to summon, as the Occuria could haunt it, what would happen if it lay neglected, with none of the Mist/Dark to absorb, for centuries? With the energies of the magicite that it was created from long depleted? If there may have been some spirit within, suddenly shown a veritable _feast_ of what it craved... But Raffeyn, many generations removed from Dr. Cid, wouldn't know about such things, so no exposition there.
> 
> \- ...Tons of my own use-of-the-Dark/Kildean-gods-related worldbuilding in here too because of VS being a relatively short game with a relatively narrow focus, which I've coaxed over 400k words of fic out of so far. With another long story to be posted that's directly referenced in this story regarding the day of Leá Monde's fall; we'll see if I have the time and spoons to get that one finished and posted someday so the narrative is as cohesive to others (hopefully!) as it is in my head.
> 
> \- Thanks to anyone reading my stories in this fandom. It's still my favorite and I hope I'm not annoying people by continuing to write in it, particularly when what I write is as convoluted as this turned out to be.


End file.
